//------------------------------//
// The Red Stone 
// Story: Finding Peace 
// by Daniel-Gleebits 
//------------------------------//

The Red Stone


“I wonder what these are made of,” Sonata muttered to herself, inspecting some of the residual paint. She had some idea of keeping them for future use, but without knowing what was in them, she didn’t know if that was really possible.
She looked around for Sunset, thinking she would ask her since she had been the one to mix them. 
“Wait,” she said absently, frowning as she turned in a complete circle. “Where is she?”
After a few moments of looking in the house, and standing on top of a slightly raised piece of rock jutting from the sandy ground, she thought to herself when she had seen Sunset last. Then she remembered.
“Oh yeah,” she said, snapping her fingers. “She was going to that place to get the thing.” She grinned, not at all remembering the description of the thing. From the place. Then she scowled. “Wherever that place is,” she mumbled. “And whatever the thing was. I wonder how long she’s going to be...”
Within five minutes of sitting in the Ouch-tree, she got bored waiting. But she had to admit that without Sunset around, she really didn’t have anything fun that she could do. The painting was done, and singing to herself had always seemed a little creepy. Not that she ever sang with Sunset around of course.
She felt her face grow warm at the very thought. That was her old life, and not a part of it she liked to think about. Then she smiled at how similar that sounded to Sunset, almost as though she was here.
“Time to get some work done,” she decided, suddenly full of responsibility energy. Something she usually only drew upon whenever Sunset was giving her the get-out-of-bed-or-no-dinner look.
She considered what to do in order of importance: Fetching water.
The water was more-or-less full. No sense getting more.
What about sweeping the floor? No good there either. Sunset had finally motivated Sonata to sweep it out two days prior when she had threatened to cut bits of Sonata’s hair during the night, and spread the strands around her bed. An odd, but motivating threat to be sure.
Other than that, she supposed she could pick some food for dinner. But she didn’t know what Sunset was cooking.
“I could cook something,” she said doubtfully.
Experimentally, she took a look in the pantry at the back of the home, a small dry space divided from the main room of the house by a layer of clay wall. The sight before her was not confidence-inspiring. She couldn’t name most of the items she saw, having mostly ever seen food in its prepared state.
Considering that Sunset would not be happy to find a burnt mess where her larder had once been, she thought to turn to a different course of action.
“But what?” she asked aloud. 
The room remained silent.
She exhaled violently and dropped her head into one hand, glaring at the opposite wall. Its plain, grey surface seemed to mock her in how indifferent and unphased it was. For lack of any real object to cast her frustration upon, she decided that the wall would do to be going on with. Maybe if she damaged the wall, she could fix it. That’d be a job done. But even frustrated and desperate to find something useful to do, she could see the flaw in that plan, and how displeased Sunset would be if she ever found out that she had damaged her home just for something useful to do.
Also she didn’t know anything about fixing walls made of clay. Her village had traditionally used a combination of sea-stones, wood, and straw fixed together with mortar. She paused to smile reminiscently at the memory of her own childhood home, and at all the miniature adventures she and her sisters had gotten up to within, and indeed without. 
She blinked. An idea formed from the fathoms of her memories. She wondered whether it would be worth trying...
“I’m back,” said a voice from the door.
Sonata looked up, her insides sinking a little as Sunset stepped in through the curtain over the door. Her idea would have to wait.
“Excellent work on the painting,” Sunset said. “I could barely see the house on my way back.”
Sonata was about to accept this praise with her usual dignity, when she noticed Sunset’s limping gait. Her eyes homed in on the left foot, which had a piece of bloodied cloth around it.
“What happened?” Sonata asked as Sunset sat down.
Taking a moment to set down a small bag next to her, Sunset lifted said foot and began to gingerly peel away the makeshift bandage. The injury was relatively small looking, but seemed to be quite deep.
“Stepped on something sharp,” Sunset said through gritted teeth as she tried to pull the skin a little, probing the puncture. “Something that ought not to have been there.”
In answer to Sonata’s inquiring look, Sunset reached into the bag she’d set down, and pulled out a glimmering red stone suspended on a broken leather necklace.
Sonata’s insides went cold.
“You’ve seen this before?” Sunset asked, a look of curiosity on her face.
Without saying anything, Sonata reached out and took the gem. There was no mistaking it... faceted exactly the same way, broken on the necklace where she—
“This is mine...” she whispered hoarsely. She turned it over, hoping against hope that she’d find something different, something that would indicate that her evaluation was wrong. But nothing differed from her memory of it other than the dried blood coating one sharp side of it. “It’s mine,” she said thickly. “Sunset, I’m so sorry.”
“You mean my foot?” Sunset asked. “Well I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt, but I have something for it, I think. Oh,” she said, peering into the chest beside her bed. “Would you mind doing me a favour?”
“What?” Sonata asked absently, looking up.
“I need you to go to the garden and bring me some tyroot. I’d go myself, but—“
“I’ll go. I’ll get it,” Sonata cried hastily. “Be right back!”
Sunset didn’t say anything to this, but patiently waited for Sonata’s rapid footsteps to return, and then informed her flustered living partner what the plant looked like. Unfortunately, Sonata returned again empty handed, claiming that no such plant as Sunset had described was in the garden.
Sunset’s lips tightened. “Ah, yes,” she said, frowning slightly. “Not to worry, though,” she said quickly, noticing Sonata’s stricken look. “They do not originate in my garden. As soon as I can walk properly again, I’ll gather more for planting. It’s only a half-day’s journey. Really, it’s fortunate that this small injury has reminded me that we need it.”
Sonata couldn’t help it though; she felt terrible. Sunset had likely used all of the tyroot in helping her with her shoulder. She sat down again, picking up the stone that had done the damage.
“I thought it lost forever,” she said, turning it over.
“It looks to be a thing of value,” Sunset commented, re-bandaging her foot with some clean cloth and binding.
“Not in a merchant’s way,” Sonata said. “Not to my people, anyway. The mountains are full of them. Of more colours, too. All of my people have a jewel like this of a sort.”
Sunset’s expression took on a more interested expression. “All of your tribe has them?”
“The elders assign us the type of necklace we have when we come of age, or when we prove ourselves worthy of a position in the village. Farmers have brown necklaces, weavers have white ones. Warriors have dark blue, and fishermen light blue, whilst hunters have green.”
“I see,” Sunset said thoughtfully, staring into space. “So the colour denotes your role in society. Fascinating. What did the elder’s have?”
“Purple,” Sonata answered. “Potters wore orange, and builders yellow. Pink ones were worn by—“ She paused, blushing. “Well, there were pink ones too, let’s just leave it at that.”
“Your village sounds as though it places a significant importance on the hierarchy imposed by these colours,” Sunset mused. “I mean,” seeing Sonata’s puzzled look, “that it sounds as though the rules about what necklace you wore was important.”
Sonata nodded. “The gods gave us colours so that we can tell whether something is safe, useful, edible, dangerous... um, and other stuff. It’s the same with people, the elders say. If you’re outside of your house, you must always wear your necklace, or face punishment.”
“Well I’m sure you’re glad to have your back then,” Sunset said, smiling. “It’d be a shame if you couldn’t leave the house.”
There was a silence here, which Sunset found to be somewhat strange, given the circumstances. A question occurred to her.
“Did you not wish the jewel returned to you?”
Sonata looked up at her, an almost beseeching look in her eyes. She opened her mouth, and Sunset instinctively thought that she was going to ask a question. If so, Sonata thought better of it, and instead paused before saying, in an uncertain tone “I don’t know.”
After staring at the gem for a moment more, she held it out to Sunset. “Would you mind holding onto it for me for a while? Just until I figure out... you know, what I want.”
Sunset took the red stone unsmilingly. Holding it again, she felt an unaccountable weight to it that either hadn’t been there before, or she hadn’t perceived there when she’d first held it. Curious.

Whilst Sunset was cooking, and Sonata leaving to walk, think, or whatever struck her as appropriate, Sunset found herself reflecting on the direction her life seemed to be taking. 
It seemed to her that a great many things that she once would have probably thought objectionable, were happily transpiring to be things that she really didn’t quite mind. Indeed, Sonata was proving to be quite a pleasant addition to her daily routine.
Except for the very particular questions she had a habit of asking. She really wished that would stop.
When this thought occurred to her, she had to admit that she felt the traces of guilt building deep in her heart. Since her self-imposed-exile, she had never once been interested in the backgrounds of any of the few people she had encountered. And whilst she still didn’t feel an invasive curiosity, she had to admit, there was one thing that was disturbing her mind.

Looking down at the ruby in her hand, Sunset couldn’t help but notice that, during her explanation of the colours and their meanings, Sonata had neglected to mention what red signified.