Our mothers and grandmothers have always held the universe together. They are the sun and the moon, the land, air, and life. But when a meteor burst through the gauzy fabric of Mother’s sky, the world shook and screamed.
From my perch in the clouds, I saw the fiery ball hurtle towards the open sea with unprecedented violence. Gigantic waves crashed on vulnerable, unsuspecting shores. The meteor’s impact devastated four islands, their populations drowned in an instant before Mahasa, the keeper of the oceans, could calm it.
Fear gripped me as I hastened towards the shrine. Five stony figures stood fixed atop their marble stands. Ten glassy eyes settled upon me as I entered. Their faces were similarly shaped, though varied in composition. From sparkling granite to milky opal, shimmering citrine to steady agate.
The sixth pedestal stood vacant, like a missing tooth in a gaping smile. Mother’s statue was gone and without her protection, the world would burn.
The eldest and most ill-tempered of the guardians, Surya glared down with a scowl. Her sharp citrine edges melted everything at the slightest touch. Cool Chandra stood beside her bearing an opalescent placidity and a near-sympathetic expression. Beside her, in a descending line that was only altered through necessity, stood the rest of my matriarchal ancestors. Their subtle expressions ranged from concern to chagrin.
Grandmother Mahasa, composed of shades of deepest sapphire, remained perfectly still beside the empty pedestal. Her cheeks were newly etched, as if tears carved slivers of her stone away. She had seen her daughter taken and been unable to stop it.
These guardians, these women, had been set in stone for so long that they couldn’t have moved to stop the abduction if they’d tried. Their job, after all, was to safekeep the world above and below. When one of them was compromised or ready to rise to the stars, the others had to work harder to maintain equilibrium. But in all the world’s history, no guardian had ever gone missing before.
Mother’s empty pedestal had been violently gouged and splintered. Shards of blue agate lay strewn about from where she’d been dragged away. My heart sank when I found a slender finger, now bloody and greying, behind the base of her stand. It looked the same as before she had transitioned into her role as sky keeper. The dismemberment explained why the meteor had struck the southern oceans — where a piece of the sky was surely missing.
The other guardians showed signs of strain as Mahasa struggled to control the tidal waves that now threatened continents. Worry strained the edges of her face.
“Who?” My whisper rebounded off their hard surfaces and swirled about the circular room. But they did not need to answer. There was only one amongst our kin that would have braved this act, and, with a heavy heart, I went in search of my troublesome sister.
Like the sun, moon, and world, the sky must rise above the needs of her few children. Compared to her, the four of us were just the weather. In order for the guardians to remain diligent in their prospective roles, distractions had to be done away with. Emotions tempered and cut off so that they may act with impartiality. The guardians had to see all creatures as their children, not just the ones they’d made or raised.
When Mother had ascended to the pedestal and transitioned into the blue agate that her sister had set, I had understood that she still loved my siblings and I. Metreyu, my sister, was less understanding. Resentment is perhaps too meager a term to describe her emotions, but it is the closest thing to equate it to. The last eon had seen her clutching tight to her grievances and avoiding the responsibilities that I and our other siblings were obliged to fulfill.
Metreyu would have hidden Mother well and the remaining guardians could not help me. Although they could see everything beneath the sun and the moon, they couldn’t see into caves or beneath the wide branched canopies of forest trees. While the guardian of the earth could feel every step upon it, she could not always discern one step from another. A tribe of people dragging gigantic blocks across the sand might feel the same as a stone guardian being towed behind a reticent and stubborn daughter. The air guardian could not attend to any task for longer than a few minutes. Her thoughts flew away in long streams that never led to an end, only to a new beginning. And Metreyu would not be foolish enough to venture near grandmother’s waters.
No. It fell to me to find my sister and mother before the other guardians weakened at the imbalance.
I began my search in the land of our father, though he had risen to the stars long ago. Tall intricate marble likings of him stared down in judgement, carved by worshippers who falsely credited him with casting lightning bolts and children across the world. With my eyes closed, I questioned the people who still worshipped him, but they knew nothing of my mother or sister.
When a few of the elder priests postured and hurled offensive words, I couldn’t help my gaze turning hot. Their flesh morphed to granite and shale. The other people then cowered or fled, and I moved on.
Venturing to my younger brother's vibrant temples in the high, snowy mountains, I impatiently watched as Sivu's devotees offered up their neighbor’s children for sacrifice in exchange for the safety of their own. While sandalwood incense wafted in yellow ribbons through the thin air, my brother sat upon his throne and sneered at his worshippers with disregard. Sivu had always been cruel and I’m not ashamed to admit some satisfaction when his eyes finally found me, and he flinched. The hems of his concubines’ red saris fluttered as they trembled and scurried behind his throne when he warned them not to look upon me.
“Metreyu has stolen Mother. Have you seen them?” I asked.
Sivu sniffed as he sat a little taller. His eyes shifted subtly away before he answered. “Not in years.”
There was bitterness in him, and I reminded myself that he had handled abandonment in his own way.
“If she isn’t returned soon, her form will begin to fail, and the sky will fall again.” I warned.
His tongue nervously worked the inside of his cheek as he leveled black eyes upon me. “That won’t affect me or mine here in the mountains.” His tone held false authority, as if repeating lies that had become his own truths.
“The entire world will suffer without her. How much can sea and earth endure before they grow weary?” I asked. “You must remember when the guardians grew ill, and chaos took hold. Everything fell still. The mountains crumbled then. Yours will fare no better.”
Sivu’s black eyes shifted toward the white-capped peaks that cut across the horizon. His fingers trailed down his jaw to tug at the length of black beard upon his chin while his lips pursed in contemplation.
“Do you remember when mother lifted the sky back up so that air and sea could move again? Imagine what will happen to the other guardians if she does not return.”
Sivu’s silence was heavy. One of the women behind his throne cried softly.
“You could replace her,” he said. “It’s almost your time, isn’t it?”
Annoyance dusted my breath. “You know that is not my role. They made us in pairs. One is the setter, and one is to be set when the time comes.”
Beneath my gaze, his body stiffened and shimmered subtly, until I blinked and looked away. I could have set him then if I’d wished it. But, according to my grandmothers, the men never lasted as long when they were made keepers.
He cleared his throat before shifting nervously in his seat. “Ask Yoshen. He always understood Metreyu better than the rest of us,” he said. “That is where I would go.”
I nodded politely. “Come visit us, brother. It would do your grandmothers well to see you.”
He clasped his hands together attempting to still the tremble that worked its way through them and refused to meet my eyes. Sivu gave a curt, dismissive nod.
A woman with high cheekbones and wide eyes peeked curiously from behind Sivu’s seat, unintentionally drawing my gaze. Someone hidden beside her cried out as she morphed into rose and gray dappled granite. Her last breath was a soft, dusty sigh that hovered in the air as I left.
Yoshen lived in a northern wooded glen, nestled amongst tall pines and thick-coated beasts that slumbered through the winter months. He didn’t seek the company of others, though would provide aid if someone fell ill under his watch. The locals revered him as a monk or a myth. In time, he might become both.
He sat cross-legged upon an old stump with his face turned toward the distant warmth of Surya’s sun. He’d always been her favorite grandchild, and no one bore him any resentment for it. Yoshen’s kindly nature made him everyone’s favorite, in one way or another. He watched me approach with eyes dark and warm as fresh turned dirt in spring.
“You’ve lost her,” he said. There was no accusation in his tone, though part of me wanted to take offense.
“Metreyu has taken her.”
“Did you think she’d come to hide here with me?” Yoshen asked. He smiled gently until I looked away, fearing the damage I might do.
“Sivu thought you might know.”
He scratched his shaved head. “Where would you go if you wanted to be alone with mother?”
“I was never alone with her, you know that.” I shrugged as if it never mattered, though knew he understood the sting of that truth. “Being the setter fell to me when Auntie rose to the stars. And Metreyu knows her duty.”
He uncrossed his legs and patted the space beside him. “You were too young to become the guardian’s setter and keeper. It was too much for you then.”
I settled next to him, enjoying the warmth of his shoulder against mine as the sun smiled upon us. Yoshen offered a quiet companionship that calmed every creature in the vicinity, including myself.
“It had to be me,” I said finally. “Metreyu doesn’t have the steadiness of a setter.”
He placed a gentle arm around my shoulder and, though physical gestures were a rare thing amongst any of us, I leaned toward him.
“How long can you be away from the others?”
“I have a little longer until they soften,” I said.
“I suppose our sister will have to be set now, too.” His words flitted away with the wind, though their weight made me slump.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Squeezing my shoulder, he nodded slowly. His voice was heavy. “Have you tried the forgotten caves?”
“The one with the glyphs that we drew as children?”
“If I wanted to speak of childish hurts and longings without the audience of my siblings or ancestors, I would take her there.”
I looked too long upon his profile until his skin shimmered with a jadeite iridescence before I closed my eyes. He squeezed my shoulder once more before releasing me.
“I will visit when all is settled,” Yoshen called. I departed without looking back.
It was a long trek to that musty cave a continent away. Each step left a trail of shale and sandstone formations that jutted from the ground behind me but, as I tired, those changed to slate and schist.
Metreyu had rolled large boulders before the cave entrance to keep it hidden from the sun, moon, and air. They had all warned Mother of Metreyu’s nature from the moment we were made. I was the strong one, they said. The steady and reliable one. They labeled my sister demanding and stubborn. Selfish and unruly. They never hid their opinions from our ears. But they didn’t know my sister. Truly, she was none of those things.
Metreyu needed more than I did — more attention, more comfort, more consoling — and she was wounded for never having those needs met. We were not the same, but I had tried to understand her.
Until this.
Beneath the willing touch of my fingers, the boulders crumbled, blowing away in silt-fine particles that drifted away in the wind. I descended into the dark cave, following the narrow tunnel for a long while until a flicker of light warmed the limestone walls. I did not try to quiet my approach. It would make no difference.
Mother’s blue striated body sparkled in the fluttering light. The agate still held strong. At the broken edge of her right little finger, a stark contrast of red and white juxtaposed against the blue outer shell - a reminder of what used to be flesh. Metreyu sat on the ground, rubbing her thumb over mother’s absent digit as she mumbled and wept.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” she said. She glanced at me over her shoulder, black hair flowing like a curtain that folded around her face. “I never got the chance to explain everything. You understand, don’t you?”
Mother’s eyes tracked me as I moved slowly toward them. “I understand that you have not gotten the resolution you’d hoped for.” I tempered my words with a gentleness inspired by Yoshen.
“I just wanted to talk,” she whispered again. Her cheeks were wet and raw. “It’s difficult to speak freely up there. You know how the others judge my every word.”
“I’m sure that you didn’t mean to hurt her.” I was only a few feet from her. “But you shouldn’t have brought her here without permission. Family does not equate to property. And her finger …”
“It was an accident! I forgot how heavy she is now.” She sobbed again, wiping the back of her hand across her nose in a long sweeping motion.
“There was a meteor …” I left the sentence hanging. It was unlikely that she would care about the thousands of lives lost, and it would only cause mother grief. I lay a hand on Metreyu’s shoulder, letting the weight of it instill a certain amount of gravitas. A shudder wriggled up her back, lulling her sobs into a thick silence. “We must return her before the others begin to falter without her.”
Her shoulders rolled back, posture stiffening as she settled in for a fight. She glanced at me briefly before gazing at mother’s stony face. “I struggled without her. So did Sivu. So did Yoshen. I know that you did too, though you never complained.”
My hand drifted from her shoulder. “Did complaining about it help you? It never changed anything, only made you more comfortable with your misery.”
Metreyu struggled to stand on stiffening limbs, grasping mother’s hand to haul herself up as I continued. “I never had the luxury of wallowing in self-pity, sister. Someone had to keep the guardians set. There was never any time to indulge myself. I have always had work to do.”
Her eyes widened as ripples of green malachite shone through beneath patches of her skin. “What are you …?” She gripped Mother’s arm with sudden understanding. “No, please. I still need to …”
In a moment of panic, she swung a heavy arm toward me. The new weight of the limb threw her off balance. She stumbled while trying to remain upright and knocked Mother sideways.
I abandoned Metreyu’s setting and leapt to catch the sky keeper. But I was not fast enough.
Metreyu screamed as Mother shattered upon the floor. Blocks of blue striated agate tumbled and broke into smaller pieces as the inside of her split open like a geode, revealing ruby and white quartz innards. She had broken into small, unrecognizable bits that shimmered and glowed.
A blinding light rose from her remains and disappeared through the dirt ceiling. Mother was rising to the stars, there’d be no bringing her back now. Knowing that she would rest beside her stone-setter sister didn’t ease the pain of losing her.
The surrounding ground shook and groaned in sharp, sudden blasts. The sky was falling. Neither Surya nor Chandra could stop it. Our grandmothers, aunts, and all the lives they sought to protect would soon suffer. The world would be shaken clean unless …
Metreyu stared transfixed at the rocks scattered around us. We watched stoically as the blue agate transformed into bits of decaying flesh and congealing blood. When another wave of shakes threatened us, understanding dawned in her eyes. My sister wrapped her arms around me and wept.
• • •
I gently wipe the dusty particles from crystal and stone limbs while the women’s eyes look beyond me. The guardians are busy tending to their duties and, though it has taken the breadth of eternity, they have finally accepted Metreyu as one of their own.
My sister stands upon the sixth pedestal, her figure cut in sharply angled aquamarine as her unyielding arms reach upward to brace the sky. I linger over her, speaking my love, though she cannot return it.
Yoshen comes frequently with bright-colored flowers, but never stays for long. He prefers the woods and glens to this austere space. Sivu visited us with his twin-made daughters in tow. One is quiet and steady, the other is rash and loud. Soon they will stay here and call me auntie until my time is done.
There is peace in the quiet company I am caretaker of. For as long as the sun burns and the moon encircles us, I shall keep them all together. Until it is my time to rise to starlight.