The Heart Fountain

 
Thirty-Five
I wake up, and almost jump off my mat.
I’m 35 cycles today, a child no more.

I’m fully grown, with all my adult strength.
But most of the customs around this age are gone, hundreds of cycles ago.

People don’t celebrate it as they once did.
The law doesn’t recognize the age as anything special, at all.

But I’m excited.
You can’t study the melting, or enter the stadium to watch the Gen tournaments until you reach 35.

The melting is our name for the ways of binding energy and shape shifting.
The melting is taught by Gen, energy beings who live among us.

The full name of the Gen is Gensai fon (hands of light).
But we just call them Gen.

Those who hate or fear the Gen call them the dead.
And say they are dead spirits who refuse to go to the next world where they belong.

The Gen are not the dead, but Gen are not like the living either.

Some people say there are thousands or millions of them who live in our world.

We never see more than a couple of dozen together.
But the Gen aren’t visible, unless they want to be.

Each Gen starts life with a body, as one of the people.
Then she studies the ways of the melting.

And at some age, she decides to pass through the birthing and give up her physical body.

The Gen appear sometimes with physical bodies.
But people say that Gen don’t need the bodies anymore.

They wear the bodies like clothing for minutes, hours or days.
Then the bodies vanish.

I’ve heard stories of the Gen for many cycles.
All of my grandparents became Gen, before I was born.

They don’t visit any more.
Mother says they’ve left this world for some distant place.

“Why do some Gen stay in the world, and others leave?” I ask.
Mother doesn’t know.

Her parents became Gen at the same time.
But didn’t stay together afterwards.

They left our world at different times, each without saying goodbye.

Mother is still upset about it.
“Gen don’t care about the living, even their own children,” she says.

I guess she’s right.

Mother swears that she will never study the melting, and never become a Gen.

My father died young, cycles ago.
He never studied the melting, so he went where the dead go.

 
The Melting
I walk into the school.
There are only four or five in the whole world.

It’s easy for me, because my city has one.
It’s the tallest, and most beautiful building in the city.

People say that most of it is empty.
It’s not large out of need, only desire.

The Gen are artists, and shape stone out of air in a moment.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, and walk through the high archway.
There’s a desk inside near the opening.

“Your business?” the guard asks.
“Study.”

He looks me over.

He’s probably flesh, like me.
Just a job for him.

“New student?” he asks.
“Yes.”

“You’re lucky.”
“You can only sign up when the Gen are here.”

“Master Vala is here today.”

I fill out the form.

Give your name, and names of parents five Generations back.
Circle the names of any Gen.

And tell truly why you want to learn about melting.

Everyone knows that you can’t lie on the forms.

The Gen see your thoughts.
If your thoughts don’t match your words, you will never be taught.

No second chances.

You can’t even watch the Gen tournaments until you’ve finished the beginner’s class.
If that’s why you want the class, the Gen will still accept you.

Even if you have no talent, they’ll let you finish the class.

I want to learn the melting so I can fly.
And swim at the bottom of the ocean.
And travel through space, faster than light.
And see the tournaments.

About a dozen Gen play in a tournament.
They use their skills to shape matter and energy in beautiful forms, and move through their creations.

Even those who dislike the Gen, but have seen the tournament, say how beautiful it is.

 
Master Vala
I wait for her in a small, well-lit room with murals on the walls.
I sit at a small round table.

I stand up when she enters.

I’m surprised by how beautiful she is.
She has sparkling green eyes.

She looks about my age, but I know that it means nothing.
She made this body from air, today, or last week.

I wonder if her birth body looked anything like this.

“Welcome, Neebol,” she says.
“Thank you,” I answer nervously, remembering that she hears my thoughts.

“I know your grandparents a little from the tournaments.”
I nod.

“Let’s see if you have any talent, so I can put you in the right class.”

Seven shining crystal bowls appear on the table in a circle.
Each bowl has a thick liquid of a different color, red through violet.

“Put your hands over the green bowl,” she says.
I do, and my hands feel warm, like heat is rising from the bowl.

“Good,” she says with a laugh. “Some people can’t even feel the heat.”
I smile.

“Now close your eyes and put both hands into the bowl.”
“You may see an image or two, or see nothing.”
“Don’t speak. I’ll be able to see what you see.”

I lower my hands into the bowl, expecting to see a brief image.
I gasp aloud.

I’m flying quickly through grayish skies.
I pass over the tops of several mountains.

I’m wearing long black robes, with gold circles by each wrist.
The hands are not my hands, and the body feels alien.

The clouds are moving quickly, and it’s raining, but I’m dry, and the wind doesn’t touch me.

Finally I land on the tallest of the mountains, on a strangely flat area.
Something tore off the top of this mountain and flattened it out.

On the mountaintop there are seven towers.
Three on each side of a long footpath, and one tower at the end.

I walk along the path until I reach the seventh tower.
I raise my hand and the door to the tower opens.

Fire comes bursting out of the tower.
I pull my hands out of the green bowl and open my eyes.

I feel faint.

Vala has a strange expression on her face.
“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Drink this,” she says,” and hands me a glass with a familiar smelling tea.
I drink it, and it calms me.

“I wasn’t expecting such vivid images,” I say.

“Neither was I,” she says.
She’s not smiling.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask.

She takes my hands and looks me in the eyes.

“I’m not upset with you,” she says.
“I’m just astounded by what’s happened.”

“The images you see are a world where powerful energy beings live.”
“This place has been seen before, but only by the most powerful Gen.”
“And noone has ever seen the door open.”

“What does it mean that I’ve seen it?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says, now smiling.
“But I’m putting you in my second level class that starts in three weeks.”

“I’ll give you some tutoring before then in the basic material.”

“Come back at day’s end.”
“I’ll be here then.”

She puts a thin strand of green metal around my wrist.

The metal disappears and leaves a glowing green line around my wrist.
“It won’t wash off,” she says.
“And it will get you admission into the stadium to watch the tournaments.”

My mind is swimming.
I can’t think of what to say or do.
I manage to blurt out “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says.
“Go home and eat something, Nibol. It will calm you.”

“Goodbye Master Vala.”

“Goodbye, Neebol.”

“And Nibol,” she says with a smile, “this is exactly what I looked like when I was your age.”
“About a thousand cycles ago.”

I turn and walk out of the building, my heart pounding.