The Orient Pearl of Dalatica

THE SACRED STONES OF MONG

The Dalaticans watched the rain pouring hard onto the ground, hoping it would wash all the stench of blood and the fragments of nightmare that flooded the entire battlefield. The soldiers were back in Dalatica with the corpses of their comrades who were unfortunate to survive the battle, feeling so numb and exhausted to feel the piercing drops of water on their skin. They walked on the street without the smile of victory. People did not drop their knees out of pride and relief but because of loss and grief at the sight of a father, a sibling, a relative, or a friend, lying on a carriage.

The melancholy was deafening inside Vern’s room and only the melody of the cries of women howling in the middle of the night tells that the nightmare was over. But, that night will remain unforgotten until the next million generations to come in the future.

Vern was half asleep and her soul had barely risen to the world of nothingness when the cold breeze caressed her bare shoulders. She opened her eyes and noticed that the wooden sliding window was slightly opened.

She must have forgotten to close it tightly. She got up to slide the window closed but she saw a reflection of the lighted lamp coming from the window next to hers. There could be someone still unvisited by the god of sleep. She went out to the receiving area to check and she found Maximillian sitting on the reclining chair with a glass of red glimmering liquid on hand.

“Can’t sleep?” Vern asked as she entered the room without him noticing it.

“Nope. Just finishing this bottle,” he retorted, referring to the bottle of something still unknown to her, “This is Lhimer. It is made from the fruit of the Tree of Igus. How about you?” He raised his glass towards her directions, inviting her for a drink but she motioned her hand to refuse.

“I’m thinking about building a castle,” Vern voiced out with, laid-back and unreserved.

He didn’t replied and smirked at me as he brought the glass to his mouth.

“Let’s build the hope in the Drylands of Eraia. Let’s turn the place into a symbol to be remembered for valor and honor. Somehow, it will pacify the pain a little bit,” she added while looking at him with anticipation.

He gazed at her blankly.

“How are we supposed to ease their pain, when we were the ones who sent their beloved to their end?” he demanded desperately.

“Don’t drag yourself to the end, too, Maximillian. You’re the strength of this world. I’ll help you to make this fight to be remembered as the Golden times of Dalatica,” Vern declared with a hint of assurance and conviction in her words.    

He got up from the chair and walked to the open window, letting the moonlight to cascade onto his figure.

“Don’t you miss your home, Vern? It’s just days ago when you wanted me to bring you back to your world?”

Vern was suddenly flooded by the pictures of her room, her mother’s tears, and her father’s grumbles. Everything came into her in a single blow. She weakened at the thought. His words muted all the enthusiasm in her.

“Sometimes, the flame is just so warm and comforting that you would want to give in, to just burn into ashes and fly with the wind.” His voice fathomed of deep sorrow and agony.

It was then she realized why Dalatica is torn between valleys. It was not really home but a refuge to hearts who have been lost for thousands of years. At that point in time, she knew she didn’t have to be torn in between. She didn’t have to choose. It was who she is that matters. The brave and versatile Vern was all that it takes.

            Vern was walking her path to the Hall of Mong, with the guide of the soldier sent by Maximillian to fetch her. She woke up this morning with the house occupied by mere silence. The hall looked like a temple elevated in few stairs from the ground. The vestibule of the temple resembled the gothic architecture mixed with baroque style like those of the ancient times. The door was painted in jade and the roof was tinted in crimson, decorating it with golden concave edges and forming a pyramid at the center, ending on pointed spear-like stuff.

            She entered the hall while all the men and women seated on either side, on golden-furnished mahogany chairs. Maximillian, together with Symetra, they were standing at the far end of the hall, on a stage while facing the crowd, all eyes at her as the giant double-opening door opened at a slow pace.

            The guard motioned her to follow him along the bloody-red velvety carpet.

“My dear fellow Dalaticans, it is all with pride to introduce to you our new ally who fought with us during the Battle in the Drylands of Eraia, Vern! She is the future written in the prophecy.” His voice was so firm and power was evident. No wonder he is hailed as a mighty leader and remained as respected and trusted by the villagers.

Vern looked at the crowd as she stood on the stage, wearing beige clothing, knotted on her right shoulder, leaving the other as bare. A string was tied on her waist, forming a skirt down to her knees and curving out longer on the sides.

The hall snarled. Each head pivoted towards its neighbor and produced bubbled sounds to Vern’s ears. The mob was mystified at his words.

“Yes, what you just heard is right! She will be our future queen,” The crowd quieted down as his voice roared in the entire hall.

“She is here because of news she has to tell to all of us today,” he declared as he made way for her to speak before them.

“I am Vern. I am a human. I was lost but now I want to build a home. A home with you, the Dalaticans. From this moment onwards, my mission is to make Earth a home to humans and Dalaticans,” a conviction in words showed imminence in her voice. It sounded so powerful that it reached the gloomy hearts of the bereaved.

On the next day, the main street of the village seemed a day in the market downtown like Divisoria in the midst of raging vehicles and walkers in the sidewalks of Manila. Men were carrying different tools in construction. While the women, carried baskets of bread while their children tags along with a container of water on their shoulders.

She found children playing on a rectangular writing on the ground. They were wearing clothing that looked like a vest and baggy shorts. A band of varied-colored clothing was tied around their foreheads while their feet were bare.

She approached them and watched them play as one of them throw a stone on a print on the sand and moved along to get it.

“What are you playing?” she asked.

“It’s called piko,” a child answered who was sitting on the ground as he watched his playmate.

“Can I play,” Vern asked one more time.

“Inay said adults don’t play,” the other replied, he was flinching at the strike of sun rays against his face.

“I see,” she acknowledged, “Where are those people going?” she asked again while pointing at the group of people walking to the southwards to the exit of the village.

“They’re going to Eraia. They said a queen has come and a castle should be built in Eraia. Isn’t that place scary?” he asked as he stood up from the ground.

“Not anymore, Eloi. The guardian and the soldiers shred them into ashes,” the older boy said to the younger one, sitting on the ground.

“So, you’re Eloi. I’m Vern. How about you?” Vern asked the older boy.

“Elijah, I’m his elder brother. It’s a pleasure to meet a human like you,” he introduced vigorously.

“Me, too. But, how did you know I’m a human and who’s this guardian?” she probed with curiosity in her eyes at Elijah.

“Everybody knows since the day you first appeared. You seemed different. And we refer to the mighty Maximillian as our guardian. He’s been defending our village since the former queen reigned.”

The stone on sand caught her eyes and picked it up. It was dark gray, smooth, and peculiarly heavy in its small size. Her other hand touched the stone and felt her watch slightly drowned to the stone. Right there, she realized it was not only stone. It was metal, and iron particularly.

“Where did you get this rock?”

“It’s scattered everywhere. But, you can find more of this at the cave of falling waters. It just gets more and more every day so, the people gather them every Saturday to the chambers beneath the hall. They say they are gifts from the Orient Pearl,” said Elijah.

“Can the two of you go with me to see the stones?”

The boys looked at each other. 

They were on the stairs to the hall when an old woman in a magenta-colored robe, supporting herself with a staff on her right hand, appeared at the top of the stairway. She was watching at them intently.

“I am Alucia, I am the caretaker of the Hall of Mong. May I help you, my queen,” the old woman even bowed her head slightly as she spoke, “And why are these children with you?”

“I brought them here to guide me to chambers where you hide this,” she informed her while handing in the stone she got from the boys.

The woman got surprised upon seeing the stone.

“Where did you get this? This is a sacred property of our ancestors. It should not be carried like this!”

“I’m sorry but maybe these boys just found this stone, unaware how valuable this is,” Vern spoke sternly.

“Can I take a look,” she asked compassionately.

The woman eyed them with hesitation but was left with no choice and just led the way to the chambers, instructing the boys to stay behind.

The guards opened the huge doors to make way for their entrance and walked past the aisle, to another door beside the stage. A spacious hallway welcomed her eyes where only the sun rays lighted their way.

The woman opened the door but only complete darkness was all they could see. Swiftly, a light engulfed the entire space. To her surprise, the light was coming from the old woman’s left hand. It was on fire but the fire was blue. She seemed fine because she just walked on steadily without any sign of pain or disturbance.

When the woman saw a torch, she lighted it with the fire on her hand. It was just one torch but it ignited the next torch, up to the next until all the torch that surrounded the large chamber were lighted.

She saw the stones stored in large wooden cubic containers on either side of the chamber. It already covered half of the entire space of the chamber.

“This is an enormous amount of iron,” she wondered in disbelief.

“And they just increase every day,” Alucia added.

“Dalatica should make use of it or else the entire village will be covered by these stones.”

“It’s a sacred symbol for us, Vern.” Vern looked at the owner of the voice and saw Maximillian.

“But, if it’s a gift, you should use it for a purpose and if it’s sacred then it will you protect yourself from enemies. This will make a lot of things to protect us from enemies, and build machines that will help build the castle faster,” Vern argued.

“And our world will be like yours? Polluted and out of order, is that what you want?”

Vern’s thoughts staggered at his words. She knew it. It was not ignorance that made this world left out.