Stone's Grin

Art by Alexander Elrod - 2024

They say stone poisoned the water.

The world was once covered in rock, solid foundations and sturdy ground for humankind to raise their cities. Entire civilizations harnessed the stone and the earth, constructing massive structures that scraped the skies and dwarfed the mountains. There were more of us too, so many humans scattered across the giant rock.

Then, the water overtook the earth. It rose as high as our towers and higher than the mountains. The ocean stole our world from the stone, concealing it beneath its waves and sea-spray. Only a few points remained untouched, the places the water could not reach, the tallest of mountains and highest of peaks. It would reach them in time, perhaps time beyond human comprehension, a cycle continuing beyond our own.

So, to take its revenge, the stone spiked the water with foul-tasting salt.

I’d always considered this a dramatically ironic allegory. We’d been so thirsty for the earth’s riches, yet it could never satisfy. In return we were given endless water, yet it was water that could never quench our thirst.

Humans have adapted, sure. We have many flaws, but a lack of perseverance isn’t one of them. Or perhaps stubborn is the better word.

Our answer to the rising waters was war, like most things, but from the rubble of the seemingly never ending war were mobile cities. At first, they began on land, herds of wagons carrying entire buildings, rumbling across the wastelands. Soon enough, they had to take to the waters. Entire communities set sail on the waves, never to have the waters carry them back to shores. I know of at least four communities--from the north, south, east, and west--which are both earth-roamer and wave-conqueror.

Around a spit of land, perhaps the last remaining untouched by the poisoned waters, these four hybrid communities came to meet.

First to arrive was the west, the smallest and quickest of the four. The west’s barge was more like a pile of houses and structures thrown onto a foundation. Buildings crawled over one another in order to assert their dominance. Many towards the bottom of the community never saw the daylight. The west were a scavenging people, picking up pieces of other communities as they went. Its joints ached and hinges creaked as its wheels retracted from its front and back, beginning to grumble up to the island.

Then came the east, the largest of the communities. But it wasn’t a tall structure, by any means; it was a flat stretch of manmade land covered in tiers of crops and greenhouses. The east specialized in food, a mobile farming community which could supply its own population and the population of others. Unable to move onto the island with wheels, large insectoid, mechanical legs protruded from its sides. It scuttled onto the land, a slow moving centipede of metal and crop resting on the opposite side of west’s perch.

Next came the north, carrying with it a great plume of smoke. You could smell the north before it arrived. The soot covered community growled as it approached, its metal clank piercing through the waves. A horn sounded from one of its taller towers. Spiraling down this tower and its many, bulbous structures were meters upon meters of tubing, wiring, and piping. The north was known for its water refinery and power supply. They didn’t hunt beasts, they hunted oil. Using their great machines, they filtered and purified the liquid to the purest form they could.

Lastly, the latecomer arrived. The south was the smallest community, but perhaps the highest valued of the four. While the other communities supplied essentials, the food, water, and scrap needed to keep a community and its people functioning, the south dealt with a diverse spread of trade. It housed artisans, craftsmen, collectors, curators, vagrants, and wanderers. The south was a community of merchants, the collectors and curators of strange, salvaged goods and oddities. They had hunters selling the gargantuan bones of whales and sea-beasts. They had jewelers selling beautifully strung pearls and meticulously arranged jewels. They had historians selling artifacts and relics from a forgotten age.

And they had me.

As I set up my own stall in the make-shift market, I watched the leaders of our four communities convene in the center of the land spit. Soon, they would announce the beginning of our day of trade. We had until sunset to sell our wares, buy our goods, then pack up for another eternity on the ocean.

Feeling the sturdy ground beneath my feet never got any easier. I was used to the ocean’s rhythm, the sway it instilled in me as our community tumbled across its waves.

Stone sleeps while water dreams. Dreams can carry you to new places, new horizons. Sleep is silent. The stone beneath my feet held this silent contempt. I felt unwelcome. The stone frowned beneath my feet.

“That thing still tailing ya?”

Old Otala set her stand up near mine. As she arranged her necklaces made of wire, shells, and bone, she nodded towards a familiar fluff of fur brushing up against my leg. The cat had been following me for a few days now, and I’d decided to call him Regalo, Galo for short. It meant “gift” in one of the old tongues.

“Consider it a sign,” Otala said. “His kind is rare. Must mean the earth likes you, bringing you one of her servants.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was probably wrong. The animal itself wasn’t much of a gift. In fact, he was more like a nuisance, the earth playing tricks on me. He was named Galo because of the mice he’d leave at my bedside, little “gifts”. This was supposed to be his way of showing affection, I suppose, but dead vermin is hardly my preferred present.

People started to approach our stalls. I finished setting up, then I began to call out. My voice mixed in with a chorus of other merchants’.

“Stones of story and life! From around the endless oceans! Pulled from the depths of the waves! Unique artifacts from a forgotten age!”

“Rocks?”

I turned to the newcomer, a young fellow who, by the looks of his plain tunic and sunburnt nose, was from the western community.

“Not just rocks, young man: stories.”

He scoffed.

“You know we used to use something called paper,” I told him. “We would write in stacks of the stuff, chronicling our histories and knowledge so it could be passed down and circulated. But as the world became covered in water, the knowledge faded from these pages of paper. The world lost so many stories.”

I spread out my hands to show off my collection before me.

“Yet, each of these holds a story more intriguing than those that came before.”

The young man snorted, “This something the rocks whispered to you?”

I smiled, “You’d be surprised what their silence can tell you.”

“I’m good,” he replied.

And he walked on. I turned towards Galo, watching his eyes follow the young man as he walked towards another stall.

“He wasn’t meant to carry the stories anyways,” I said. “Didn’t understand.”

I don’t know why I’d spoken to the cat. I’d never done it before. Something about the look he had given me as the western man walked away from the stand.

In response, Galo let out a quick mew. I’d never heard him make any sort of sound. I realized something caught his attention. His eyes stilled and steadied on a figure in the crowd. Its tail twitched. He bolted into the hustle and bustle of the trade market in a flash of blue-gray fur.

I sighed. Not even the cat was interested in my collection. I looked over each of my collected stones, their different shapes, colors, and textures. I recalled each layer of their story: the tale of how I’d found it, the clues it held to unlock its history, and the story it carried with me as I carried it in my collection.

The stone beneath my feet remained silent. I knew its story as well, and I still assumed it was angry. Who was I to take its children, to collect them, to sell them? I wasn’t meant to harness the earth, just like the people who had tried to so many centuries before.

But there was something about the stories, something about them that had to be shared. Wasn’t the earth meant to be shared? Perhaps the stone was silent because it was content. Perhaps I had appeased it. Perhaps--

“Hello.”

I looked up, pulled from the stony trance. I found myself face to face with a man, an older man. He smiled, stretching his skin to form wrinkles. His garb consisted of scavenged furs and skins. A sword of bone and metal was strapped to his side.

“Is he yours?” he asked.

I looked down. Galo had his body curled around the man’s leg, purring loudly.

“Yeah, uh… he follows me around.”

“What have we got here?” he asked.

“Stones,” I said. “They hold stories, collected from the depths of the oceans.”

His gaze rested for a moment on each one, as if to give each one the attention it deserved.

I pointed to an orange stone, covered in abrasions and small holes. A slice of gray rippled through its center.

“This was pulled from the shallow waters of the southern wave cycle,” I explained. “Coral and creatures once burrowed inside it. I dove into the waters that day to hunt for a good story. This is what I found, the former colorful home of an aquatic friend.

“And this--” I pointed to a smooth, dark stone that sparkled in the sunlight. “I found this in a swirl of drifting scrap. They say rocks like this form only from a clash of heat and cold, fiery magma colliding with the cold ocean waters.”

“This one?”

The man pointed to another stone, one set aside from the rest of others.

“That’s--” I didn’t know what to say. “It’s not for sale.”

“Oh?” he said. “Could I at least hear its story?”

I looked at the man, then at the rock. I stared into its dull color, nothing more than a muted gray. It wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t rough; it was somewhere in between. It’s as if the waves were interrupted as they brushed up against it, not quite finishing its process of careful, steady erosion and decay. It fit snugly in the palm of a hand, or more accurately, the palm of my own hand. A bump on its back rested perfectly in the folds of skin that formed when my hand made a fist. Small ridges on its side could rest gently on the inside of my fingers.

“I don’t know where it’s from,” I said. “But I do know… I do know it’s been with me. Always. I was told I was pulled from the ocean. That the waves carried me to the south. I was pulled from the water and it left something for me. The stone was found in my pocket--a piece of its rival, the very thing it sought to overtake.”

I glance at the stone again. I had been treating it as my anchor, the lifeline keeping me tied to the boat. But it weighed me down. Why was I telling this story? I never told this story. This was something between me, the stone, and the water. It wasn’t meant to be heard. It was meant only for our trinity of silence.

“It’s not for sale?”

I shook my head.

“Fair enough. But,” the man said. “I’d say it’s the best story I’ve heard. It’d… well, it’d be a shame if no one else heard it.”

He turned away to leave, beginning to blend in with the rest of the crowd.

I stared at the dull, gray stone. It was nothing compared to the other stones, their vibrant colors and unique shapes. It looked so insignificant, but beneath its surface, I knew there was something extraordinary at its core.

And the man had seen it too.

A tear fell down my face. The stone, both the one in my hand and the one beneath my feet, were telling me something. A silent whisper piercing through the waves’ constant chatter.

“Hey!” I called. “Wait!”

The man turned around. He must have barely heard me.

I picked up the rock and rushed over towards him, holding it out in front of me.

“Oh no no…” he said. “It wasn’t for sale, I’m not taking it.”

“This isn’t a sale,” I said. “It’s a gift.”

Galo brushed up behind me, his tail curling around my ankle.

“I--” he looked down at it, then into my eyes. His irises were as blue as the ocean waves. “Thank you.”

He took the stone, turning it over and over in hand.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Pearl.”

“Nice to meet you Pearl,” he said. “I’ll be sure to tell your story.”

He bent over, gave Galo a scratch behind the ear, and walked off into the crowded market.

As I watched him leave, I felt a shift, a change. The stone knew I’d set it free. I sensed a silent smile stretch below my feet. The stone beamed, the waves danced.

I found myself entranced by the rhythm of circumstance, waves, and the earth’s cyclical and infinite melody, caught in a temporary peace between the dreaming waters and the silent, sleeping stone.