Beneath the Living Jewels

"I've seen fire before," Penn said hotly.  The tree was ablaze and its leaves wilted like melting wax. "It's not like it's the first time lightning has struck here."
      He was lying, though. It was the first time he'd seen fire, and he was fascinated. The colours burned in bright reds and oranges, a creamy white filling in the center of each flame. Sometimes, when the storms came, they brought their blue fire down from the sky and struck a tree or a wooden building. It had never happened in Penn's village, though.
      Terol brought a hand up to cover his handsome lips. "Ugh, it smells awful," came the muffled complaint. He coughed a bit and wiped his watering eyes with the other hand.
      Penn thought it smelled quite nice, and he took a long, generous breath. The tree was splintered, he saw, cracked right down to the base of the trunk. He wondered if any creatures might have been living inside of it, like in the fairy tales. Terol gripped his shoulder.
      "Hey, fire can jump, can't it? It will spread to the other trees!" Fear crept into his usually sure voice. "Our village is responsible for this forest. If it dies, we'll be stripped of our land!"
      Comprehension flashed in Penn's eyes. There must be a stream around here or something, he thought hurriedly. The blaze was getting higher. He should have brought a water dispenser with him, but damn, he and Terol had come running like school boys as soon as they saw the smoke from the village. As he fumbled in his clothes for his dispenser, Terol let out an, "Oh!"
      "Good idea," he said, hastily undoing his jacket. From the silver body suit he had on underneath, Terol plucked a tiny metallic device. He held it up and squeezed slightly, and the miniature thing expanded rapidly until it was a tall, thin rod. The water dispenser was designed to capture molecules of moisture from the air and convert them into liquid, just like a cloud. It was sometimes called a cloud stick; a convenient way to keep water with you at all times. He swung it above his head a few times before aiming it at the tree. Just as he was about to activate the pressure valve, Penn cried out.
      "Wait!" The glistening reflection of the flames danced in his emerald eyes. "The first time we see fire and you want to put it out already?" he said dreamily. Too late he realized his mistake.
      "Ha!" Terol laughed. "I knew you hadn't seen it before!" He redirected the dispenser to Penn, who ran laughing in protest from the water. And so they watched the tree burn, ever vigilant in case the flames decided to jump to another tree. Uneventfully, the fire put itself out, expiring in a smoldering pile on the ground about an hour later.
      "Now there's a pretty thing," said Penn, discovering the embers. He reached down to touch them, but Terol stopped him.
      "They were fire a moment ago, remember? They're probably still hot."
      Penn nodded, pulling the sleeve of his bodysuit over his hand appropriately until it molded into a flexible, protective glove. Between his forefinger and thumb he picked up one of the glowing embers. It looked almost like a living jewel. Then something else caught his eye.
      Beneath the remains of the fire, where the tree once stood, Penn could see a strange script scrawled on the ground. He knelt and used his glove to wipe away some of the embers. No, it wasn't written on the ground, but on a stone slab embedded in the soil. How archaic!
      "What is it?" Terol called.
      "I'm not sure," came Penn's answer. He rubbed his eyes, which were still hazy from the smoke. "It looks like some kind of old grave or memorial."
      "What?!" Terol gasped. He came rushing over and crouched down beside Penn.
      They both looked at each other, fear and wonder in their expressions. "No one dies anymore. This must be over a millennium old." Penn's voice was barely a whisper. The stone had been covered by the tree, but how old could the tree have been? Surely not a thousand years? Someone must have seen this before. Penn got the strange feeling, though, that they hadn't.
      Terol was scanning the words intently, though in vain. "Is it written in Anglesh?" he asked, unsure.
      A faint smile touched Penn's lips. "It's Inglish, Terol, and yes, it looks to be." The dying, living jewels gave off a faint glow which illuminated the scripture. Near the bottom of the slab was an artfully carved arrow, pointing upwards. After examining it for a moment, Penn realized that it was not a grave at all.
      "You can relax, Terol, this is no tomb of the dead." His eyes were alight with amusement. "It's a sign."
      They stood and made their way forward through the thick brush, trying to stay as true to the arrow's direction as they could.