“Boys, don’t wander off too far!”  The father yelled out to his sons as they splashed in the warm waves.  “Be careful of the undertow!”

“We know, Dad,” yelled back one of the piglets.

The father opened up his beach towel and let it float down onto the sand.  He glanced out to the shore once again to make sure his eldest was not splashing his little brother too much.

“Percy!”  A female sheep holding a briefcase wearing a large straw hat and business suit walked towards the elderly pig as he opened up an umbrella and stuck it in the sand next to the towel.  Her thick wool plunged out of the edges of her clothing.

Percy slid his sunglass down his snout to get a better look at his approaching friend.  “Lucy!  What brings you down here?   I thought your preferred the comforting hum of fluorescent lighting over the warm rays of sun?”  He leaned in and gave her a hug.

“You aren’t quite dressed for the beach,” Percy commented as he pulled out of their embrace and gave a playful look at her clothing.  “The hat is a nice touch, though.  Is that your only wardrobe accessory that insinuates that you have a life outside the laboratory?”

“Actually, the heat was a little less bearable than I expected, so I just grabbed this hat off of that fellow over there on my way over.”  Further down the beach a middle aged balding rooster lay on his own towel asleep in the sun with a book perched on his stomach.

“Oh, I see.  It looked a little big on you anyway,”   As Percy sat down on the blanket he winced in pain.

Lucy sat down next to him under the umbrella’s shade, “Is it your back again?”

Percy nodded slowly as he rubbed his lower spine gently.  “It’s getting worse by the day.  Can you grab my pills?  They’re in my bag.”

Lucy leaned over Percy and went through his beach bag, rummaging past sunscreen and towels until she found a large orange prescription bottle.  “How many do you want?”

“Just give me two for now.”

The sheep shook out two large blue pills and handed them to her long-time friend.  “Well, I wanted to catch up with you because I found that information you asked me for.”

The pig swallowed the pills and took a swig of water.  “What did you find?”

Lucy opened up her briefcase and pulled out a small stack of papers and plopped them on Percy’s lap.  “This is what I found.”

“What is it?”  Percy began to thumb through the stack of photocopies.

“Well, it took a little bit of leg work, but you mentioned that your symptoms developed shortly after our final adventure.”

Percy looked up from the pages, “Yes, with the mole tribesmen in the Atlas Mountains.  But I don’t understand?”

Lucy began to haphazardly flip through the stack of papers until she came to an ancient drawing of a large stone door.  “Does this look familiar to you?”

Her friend removed his sunglasses.  “Wait a minute,” he went into his beach bag and pulled out a pair of wire rimmed eye glasses and slipped them on.  Percy peered closer to the picture’s detail.  “Isn’t this that old mountain side doorway that the moles were guarding?”

“Exactly.  We thought the girl we were sent to rescue was behind that door because the bulk of the tribesmen were protecting it.  Of course we later found out she was trapped in a cage in the nearby pine trees.”

“Daddy, can we get some ice cream,” Percy’s youngest son yelled up from the shore.

“In a little bit, Tanner,” the father yelled back.  “I’m talking with Lucy now.  Once I’m done we’ll go together!”

“They grow up fast, don’t they,” remarked Lucy as the boys went back to building a sand castle.

“They sure do.  They look more and more like their mother everyday,” Percy smiled as he stared back briefly into a memory.

Lucy put her hand on her friend’s shoulder, “She would be extremely proud of what you have accomplished with them.”

Percy smiled and put his hand on hers, “Thanks.  All of you have been an incredible help to me over these past few years.”

“Well, we were a team.  Just because we hung up our uniforms doesn’t mean we were going to turn our backs on each other.”

Percy nodded and looked back down to the papers.  “I’m sorry I got a little bit off topic.  You were saying something about the doorway?”

“Oh right,” Lucy continued with her discoveries.  “What do you remember during that day?”

“Even after Boris and I fought through the moles the door was sealed shut.  When I tried to force it open, that’s when I first got the sharp back pains.”

“When you told me that, I began to research the history of that door.  It appears that the mole tribesmen had nothing to do with the creation of the stone door.  It was there long before that area was inhabited.”

“Well, who made it?”

“I don’t know.  The only reference I found about that door was in this,” the lamb removed the top half of the stack of papers, leaving the rest in Percy’s lap.  He looked down on the top page.  It was a photocopied cover of an ancient and barely legible manuscript; written in a forgotten language.  The cover displayed a spiral symbol with runic writing above and below it.

“What does it say,” asked Percy.

“I have no idea what it says, but I do know what it is,” she picked up the papers from her friend and waved them in front of him.  “This is a scanned copy of the ‘Grimoire Ancien.’  The only text I could find that has any mention of that stone doorway.”

“And you think this stone doorway has something to do with my sickness?”

“You’re falling apart, Percy.  The doctors have no idea what is wrong with you and you even said yourself that the pains are getting worse and more frequent.”  Lucy continued, “I spent months trying to decipher the section of this book that talked about the doorway; and that’s with the help of my headband…”

“What are you trying to say, Lucy…”

The lamb looked down, not wanting to make eye contact.  “You’re dying Percy.”

Silence fell between the two of them.  Even the sounds of laughter and splashing in the distance seemed to fade as the silence grew underneath the umbrella’s shade.

“What am I supposed to do?  I can’t leave my boys too…”

Lucy looked back up at Percy, “I could be way off here; I don’t want to give you false hopes…”

“What is it?”  Her friend hung onto her next breathes.

“I have a theory…” She turned back to the photo copy of the doorway.  “The doorway had a defense mechanism built into it,” she pointed out a couple of sketches she made on the corners of the paper. “I think when you tried to force open the door without its proper key, it reacted by giving you this unexplained fatal sickness that every doctor you went to were unable to diagnose.”

“And?”

“And I think the key that opens the doorway also holds your cure.”

Percy lit up.  “So I have a chance; a chance to get my health back?”

Lucy smiled pensively.  “It was hard to translate, but I think the descriptions in the book stated that the key needed to be placed in clear water and ingested.”

“Drink the key?”

“No-no, just the water,” Lucy responded hesitantly.

Percy stood up with renewed strength and hope.  “This is great!  I can do this!”  He looked down to his friend, “Do you have any idea where I can find this key?”

Lucy grabbed the other stack of papers she previously removed from Percy’s lap.  “That’s what these papers are.  It took me a while to find the name of the key and where it’s most recent location was…”

Percy took the papers from Lucy and skimmed through the contents.  “Chester Cantaloupe?”

“Yes, he presently owns the key.  It’s called The Stag Gem.”

“The Stag Gem,” Percy mumbled.

“He’s a fairly well respected business man in the human world.  Lives up in Glasgow, Scotland,” said Lucy.

“It looks like I’m going to Scotland,” responded Percy

“Well, a talking bipedal pig is going to draw some unwanted attention,” Lucy pointed out.

“There is only one talking bipedal pig whom the human world is familiar with then.”

“That was twenty years ago, Percy.  Too much time has passed.  You, me, the whole team has passed onto legend and turned into fiction now.”

Percy leaned in and gave his friend a long and poignant hug.  “It’s the only way I can get this gem.  Percy can’t do it, but we all know who can.  It’s time the world was re-introduced to The Piggy Ham Bacon Boy.”

Body Temp/Weight:  92.6/170 ms

Initiate Host Consciousness…

The dark room began to hum and beep with activity once more as the ship’s onboard systems awoke from its programmed hibernation.

“Estimated time of arrival: twelve hours,” a mechanical female voice chirped.  The lights of the small vessel blinked on revealing the cramped flight cabin.  The bowl-shaped robot in the corner of the room awoke and immediately looked towards the navigation systems.

“Oh my,” The robot appeared slightly surprised.  “Computer, is there a reason specific as to why we are currently residing in our escape pod?”

“During the hibernation phase we experienced a situation regarding a catastrophic collision with an uncharted asteroid belt.  I felt it prudent to transport you and the captain into the smaller vessel so we could proceed on the mission,” the mechanical female voice answered.

“When did this happen,” the robot asked as he rolled on his three wheels to the ship’s memory log.

“Eight days into the journey.”

“A day after we went into hibernation?  Where is the rest of the crew?”

“Their pods were directed back to Argonia.  They contacted this ship 134 days ago once they returned home.”

“If you directed their pods back home, why did you not direct this pod back home?”

“The captain was given direct orders to fulfill the mission.  The others were only assigned as support services.  They were not an integral part.”

“Not an integral part,” the robot began to turn in circles, his thin wiry arms flailed in the air, “They were the soldiers and scientists!  The captain has no knowledge of Earth!  You have doomed the mission!”

“The probability of the mission’s failure would have increased dramatically if all escape pods were directed back home,” the computer responded.

“What is our probability of success now,” asked the robot.

“Slightly more than zero.”

The robot sighed and rolled back to the rear of the ship.  “I think it is time to wake up the captain.  Let me tell him all the good news.  You appear to lack an understudied skill of diplomatic resonance”  The robot slid open a large glass doorway, revealing an average built man with a large nose and ship captains hat resting on a round head.  He was in a peaceful sleep in a small, cramped bed with sterile white sheets wrapped tightly around his body.

The robot gently poked the sleeping man, “Sir Limwash?  Time to wake up…”

Limwash slowly opened up one of his small eyes and blinked a couple times until his vision came into focus.  “Who are you?”

“My protocol is as a medical technician,” the robot responded.  “My providing name is Fractor.”

The Captain sat up in his bed and looked around the room.  “This isn’t my chambers…”

“Your observational curiosity is a skill to be admired,” answered Fractor quickly.  “We are presently residing in one of the emergency excursion pods continuing our journey to our mission’s destination.  We are within short twelve hours of Earth.”

“Where is the rest of the crew?”

“It appeared that shortly after our hibernation, the ship collided into a collection of space debris, completely decimating the vessel.  The onboard computer launched the rest of the crew back home, leaving us to continue on with the operation.”  The captain half listening to the robot began to frantically search the cramped space.  “They contacted us while you were still in slumber.  They are safe and anxiously awaiting our return home.”

“Uh huh,” Limwash picked up his mattress and peered underneath, flopping it back in place, he began to open up the two large over head compartments.

Fractor continued, “So in my most capable opinion, the mission has been compromised by our lack of numbers…”

“Uh huh,” The captain picked up the metal grate in the floor and anxiously scanned the darkness.

“I feel once you give the onboard computer the orders, we could alter our course back to Argonia,” the robot finished.

“Computer,” Limwash dropped the grate and looked towards the cabin’s control panels.

“Yes, Captain Limwash,” the tinny female voice answered.

“When you transported my body to this vessel, did my personal belongings accompany me,” he asked hopefully.

“Are you referring to any belongings in particular?”

The Captain measured with his hands in the air, “I had a container about this big that was in my quarters.  It contained my arsenal.”

“Processing search…”

Fractor looked over to Limwash.  “Do you want me to prepare our coordinates back home,” he asked.

“Hold on, tin man.”

A sudden hiss of air released from the ceiling in the rear of the ship as a compartment descended with a large black case nestled within it.

The captain smiled widely as he leaped back to the compartment and pulled down his case.  With a loud and hollow thud it landed on the floor.  Limwash anxiously unlatched the case and opened it to reveal his pride and joy.

Fractor rolled over to the captain and examined the contents of the container.  “Is that your ‘arsenal’?”

“You betcha,” Limwash raised up an incredibly large sledgehammer that measured twice his height with its head the same size and double the weight of its wielder.

“Cranker in full, computer; let’s blast to this planet and get this job over with!”  The captain jumped into the cock pit and flipped on a couple switches.

“Sir Limwash, we do not have the proper amount of people or equipment to succeed in this mission,” Fractor rolled over beside the captain.

“What are we missing, Fractor.”

“Well for one, we do not have any military with us.”

Limwash motioned over to his newly reunited property.

“Okay, we have one beastly large sledgehammer.  Well we do not have the science experts who were hand-picked by the United Counsel to find the planet’s cure.”

Limwash looked over at the robot.  “Simple enough.  All of the mission’s information and research are stored on the computer’s memory.  You are more than capable of downloading it onto your frame.”

“Sir, I am not designed for terrain movement!  I can not accompany you!  I was intended to stay on the ship!  I am a medical technician!”

“Calm down, Fractor.  You’ll be fine.  Now start downloading.”  The captain leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up onto the control panel.  “Now let’s go over this mission again.”

Fractor plugged himself into the ship’s frame and began to copy all of the mission’s relevant information.

“How are we supposed to save our planet from its inevitable destruction?”

“Our world’s greatest minds have discovered the planet’s cure can be found on Earth, Sir Limwash.  It resides in an unassuming artifact that has been labeled as The Stag Gem.”

Cails are natural wellsprings of truth.  They exist sporadically scattered across the surface of Cance.  They are naked to the human eye and appear no different than any other patch of land.  However, when an Aquail Caster activates a cail, to everyone present, the cail turns into a bright dome of light, volcanically releasing hard winds and scattering flashes that are confined only to the glowing half bubble that sits protectively on the surface.  To the common man, it is an amazing sight to witness.

Cails are also considered sacred places for the Chorus of Fates.  Every cail church (called a sanctuary) is built on a cail.  These cails that lie in a populace are named “Founded Cails.”  However anyone who channels a form of truth, revere and seek out cails for multiple reasons since truth fuels all channels. Truth casters seek out cails to refuel and increase their powers.  That is why more often than not, cails are fiercely guarded by a channeler of truth, to protect a cail from being drained, for if truth is taken from a cail too often, the cail can run dry.  This is the primary reason that every sanctuary is occupied by at least three chorusters.

The Channels

There are three main channels of Truth:  Cail, Song, and Starr.  The Cail channel however, is the most diverse with three subcategories.  These categories are Aquail, Siriia, and Musing.

Song

Song, as touched on briefly earlier, is the most powerful form of Truth, for this channel is the most direct way to wield the power.  The Chorus of Fates are the only people who know the path.  They are also very secretive on how Song works.  What is apparent though is when a Choruster sings, solo, or in a Chorus, incredible and miraculous events occur.

Starr

Starr is indeed the most unique form of Truth.  It is strictly a defensive channel.  It is theorized that Starr comes not from just the sky (its original basis of assumption) for it is indeed a branch of Truth and Truth is the fuel of all living and moving things on and around the Five planes, but from streams that connect the Land Planes to the Breath Planes.  These “bourns” are what Starr casters tap into to fuel the channel.

Aquail

Aquail is the most common channel known to the populace.  The reason behind this is it is the only channel that can be learned by anyone without the restriction of birthright or happenstance.  Aquail casting focuses on the belief that everyone can grasp Truth through his or her own “inner cail” and manipulate outside forces through it.  Every Gentral House has a school of Aquail Casting, however all teachers of the schools must first go through House Aqueous’ trials and testing in order to logistically teach the Aquail channel.  It is very difficult to be a “shaded” caster (one who is not sessioned by House Aqueous) because House Aqueous closely guards the secrets.

Siriia

Siriia is now, officially, an extinct channel, but their mark is still evident through their creations that are possessed by all sorts of people.

Siriia is the catchall term for Truth imbued objects.  Commonly they are weapons of both destruction and protection, but a large number of them are of passive, aesthetic appeal.  (Sculptures, necklaces, items of clothing, etc…)  There are four classifications of the Siriia:  The Sharf Stones, The Five Commands, The 13 Axal Honors, and the most common, but still rare Siriia, the ones made by Truthsmiths.  (Descendents of the Axals of Siriia)  The Truthsmiths, along with their knowledge of Siriia production disappeared with the Wind Court upon Clawn’s death.

Musing

The Musing Channel is the path that combines both the power of Cail and Song.  It was a power bestowed on children to fight against the carkaws by the Wind Court during the Lusha times. Its power has been reawakened in response to the emergence of the Wickards.  The descendants of the children of the First Fold seem to be the chosen ones who are gifted to possess the Musing channel.

The boy crashed through the office door that had Benny Falmey: Investigator of the Mysterious and Unsolvable embossed on a copper placard next to it.  “Benny, I got the message you sent me to…”  Before the boy could finish his sentence he was greeted by a tall, blonde, disheveled man wearing a half buttoned striped shirt with his finger over his mouth.

“Shhhh,” The man pointed over across the musty, dimly lit office to a desk.  Resting among the papers, empty coffee mugs, and dusty picture frames sat an intricately constructed castle of cards that cautiously measured four feet in height.  The man opened his hand up to the boy, “I only have seven cards left, then the whole thing will be finished,” he whispered.

“What is it, Benny?”

“It is a replica of Castle McLeod in the Isle of Sky; completely made out of playing cards, Keegan.  And it only took six decks.”

“Why are we whispering?”

Benny looked down at Keegan, “I don’t know,” he said quietly.  “It just felt right, I guess.”

Keegan pulled out the message the man in the black car handed him.  “We got the case, Benny.”

Benny turned back to his desk, gently placing the last few cards on the delicate model.  “Go ahead and read it to me.”

Keegan ripped open the envelope, “Okay, it says here…”

Keegan finished reading the letter and peeked up past the sheet of paper for a response.  Benny slowly turned away from his castle of cards and locked his eyes onto the note.  Keegan found his expression hard to read.  His mentor rarely showed any great emotion.  Fear, surprise, anger, excitement, and inebriation all had the same face:  mouth slightly open and eyes staring away in foggy thought.

“Seven figures,” Keegan assumed it was this part of the letter that provoked the detective’s reaction.  “That means we’ll get paid at least…”  Keegan quickly counted with his left hand, “a million pounds!”

“The Girlfriend,” Benny slid the letter from Keegan’s hand and looked over the message again.  Keegan misread the expression.  Fear, not excitement.

“Who is she,” the boy asked.

“The self proclaimed Queen of Crime.  The Duchess of Death.  Lady Larceny.  The Baroness of Broken Bones.  The Princess of Pure Pain.  Her evil knows no bounds!  She is actively hunted by the C.I.A and Interpol; her picture is in every post office from Auckland to Anchorage.

Fear.  Yup, the expression was definitely fear, Keegan thought.  “So are we going to take the case?”

“We, No.  Me, Yes,” Benny proclaimed.

Maybe the expression was excitement after all.

“Aw come on Benny!  You said the next case that came along I could help you with!  That’s why you sent me to get the letter in the first place!”

“I’m sorry kid; I wasn’t expecting to be hunting down an international crime lord for my next job.  I thought maybe it was going to be another lost cat case or something.”

“Well, why does she go by the name ‘The Girlfriend’ anyway?”

“She targets wealthy men and uses a wide variety of techniques to lower their guard.”

“How does she do that?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re thirty,” Benny removed his hat and overcoat off of Keegan and slid into them.  If the situation permitted, he would have commented on the wet clothes, but his own excitement and Keegan’s incessant questions created a strong enough distraction.  “I need to get packed if I need to catch that train tomorrow morning.  You can stay with Madame Ogra while I’m gone.  I’m sure she could find some work for you.”

“Madame Ogra!  No way Benny!  Not her!”

“What’s wrong with Madame Ogra?  You’ve stayed with her before.”

“She is too environmentally conscious and her hair smells!”

“There is nothing wrong with a little recycling,” stated Benny.

“So does that give her the right to wash her hair with goose piss?”

Truth is essentially the power that touches and is imbued in every living thing.  It is felt by every person, recognized by few, and controlled by far less.  It is, in essence, its own reality, even though it is the fuel of life, and it is unseen by human eyes.  To the common celerian (commoner) or gentral (royalty), it shows itself occasionally in the form of utter contentment as one stares at the sunset, or when one is enlightened briefly by a glimmer of faith, or when one is entranced by listening to a song.  These are but only a few examples of the many faces of Truth.

Truth, however, is known by all to exist, for it is the one noted source of power to the Song, the other channels, and the hidden cails.

The Song was the first human connection made by Truth after the Lusha times.  The song came to five women and they in turn became the foremothers to the Chorus of Fates.  With the song and the fledging crowned family, the chorus formed the first city, the city of Shrine, and became the backbone of the society, for it represented the peoples religion, and as the crowned family’s guide, the peoples government. Truth, has therefore, been ingrained in the peoples minds as that special and all-surrounding force that can be felt by all, but grasped by few.

Shortly after graduating I joined the Peace Corps and was posted in a remote village in the African country of Niger.

Although most of my time was spent working hard (I felt I needed to say that) I still found time creating my own fantasy world that I could base a series of novels on.  Much along the lines of J.R.R. Tolkien drafting the Silmarillion ; a history book of Middle Earth, I made huge all-inclusive role-playing game based in the world I created.

Inside the book is history of the world, languages, religions, races, social/political structures, and of course rules on how to play the game.

Writing this during my four and a half years in Africa was not only my way of giving myself “mini-vactions” from the heat of the sub-Saharan environment it was frankly just incredibly fun making it.

Sit back and enjoy this story and feel free to leave comments.  A new chapter is planned to be posted once a week.

-Barney

Back in 1990 when I was 14 I wrote a book entitled “The Stag Gem”.  It was a 3 part story of supposedly epic proportions with all the characters I invented growing up.  For me it was fun placing all these bizarre and interesting people in the same world; as in a separate context their genres are completely different.

I started posted this story back in the myspace days (before the monster that is facebook destroyed all other social networking sites) and received some good comments.  I feel bad I never continued with posting the story but there are two major things to blame on that:  a full time job and World of Warcraft.  That freakin’ game sucked me in like a fat man to video games.

Sit back and enjoy this story and feel free to leave comments.  A new chapter is planned to be posted once a week.

-Barney