Just as the sun peaked over the mountains and yearned to shine into the valleys below, the clouds then parted and water ceased to fall from the sky––just in time for the beginning of a new workday.

Pattering sounds that had gently pounded the ground all through the night were replaced by the slow, burgeoning bustle of the sleepy village. Dozens of bamboo huts made the signs of life by the slight stirrings of their inhabitants preparing themselves for the toilsome day ahead.

The rainy season had left its mark on the desert valleys where the drops had slithered through the fissures, leaving the canyons unstable with the possibility of mudslides, yet the Kokokirimo village remained fixed. They were a persistent sort of group of people, perhaps a little hardheaded, yet they were always astute and able to meet their yearly quotas.

A chorus of squashing noises commenced as the villagers exited their huts, all filing towards the same edge of the precinct where the village grounds met the vast worked fields of soil and vegetation. Tilled, organized lines of little mounds of dirt, spiked by hundreds of thousands of stalks shooting into the sky were reticulated in the cradle of their valley from side to side. They had planted the seeds, germinated the sprouts, and taken care of the lives of their plants, and it was now time to gather what they had sowed. It took a full effort from the village to accomplish this task, women and children included, and all worked hard to do what needed to be done.

Each villager had been born and lived their entire lives in the canyon. They never left, or even knew anyone that had. All they knew was the procedural life of agriculture, and nothing was ever out of the ordinary except for the occasional celebrations that were held each year at seedtime and harvest, so they had plenty of time to focus on and perfect their work. Time spent together had created a bond amongst themselves that made their operations look like a well-oiled machine to an outside observer. Everyone knew their role, and no one cobbled over positions in the hierarchy––that being because there really wasn’t any hierarchy. All sweated and toiled over one goal, one main shared objective, and that was to fill their baskets and make their annual offerings.

When the day was done, they returned to their huts, tidied themselves up, and all met in the center of the village for their nightly feast.

With their heads down, they shuffled through the twilight and took their seats on one of the many tree stumps that encircled a large fire. Once seated, each fumbled in their pockets and brought out a black stone that they began staring at, some polishing the surface with the edges of their tunics, while they waited for food to be distributed. Some talked with each other, but most were fixated on their stone in urgent silence. They rolled the light that emanated from the fire off the stones, as if they were trying to locate a tiny flaw in the rock, and when they did find something, they would stare at it for a few seconds, maybe giggle a bit, and then return back to rolling the light endlessly. When food was placed on their laps, which was usually a sampling of their harvest from the previous year, they wouldn’t even look twice and begin to eat, still playing with their stones.

Mostly everyone was involved in this activity, that is, except for a few children who were emptyhanded and would kick their feet and just watch the fire. One of these kids was a little blonde girl who sat at the edge of her stump and leaned over, resting her head on her hands. She was the first one to react to the scream.

The little girl turned around and saw the wide-eyed panic of a lady she has seen before running into the circle, wailing up a storm. None of the heads of the villagers rose and all remained in their slumped state, fiddling with their shiny black stones, seemingly ignoring the outcries.

The lady raced through the rows, intently searching for something.

“Philo!” She screamed.

The little girl watched her slow down just before the fire, turn around and fall to her knees in anguish. She began to sob nosily. After a couple minutes of this, some whispering began.

“She’s lost her son- ”

“Yeah, I think she’s lost her son…”

“Did you hear she lost her son?”

No one moved except the servers who were handing out bread. The people munched on their crumbs and continued looking into their stones. Without touching her slice, the little girl placed it on her stump and pushed herself off. Cautiously, she approached the sobbing woman and halted.

“What’s the matter?” the little girl asked politely.

The lady slowly lifted her wet eyes from her hands towards the little girl through tangled hair. She was hesitant for a moment, not sure if she was being made fun of.

“I– I lost my son. He was with me this morning, but then he vanished.”

The little girl widened her eyes with the image of a boy disappearing in her mind.

“Oh no…”

“What’s your name? Do you know Philo?” The lady frantically whispered.

“My name is Holly, nice to meet you… Yeah, I know Philo. We play together in the fields sometimes.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“He’s gone in search of a stone, I just know it!” Another wave of distress came over the mother, followed by a new wave of whispers.

“Oh, it’s about a stone– “

“It’s about a stone… “

“He went looking for a stone, huh?”

Holly took a few steps closer to Philo’s mom and touched her shoulder affectionately.

“It’ll be okay, ma’am. Maybe Philo’s hiding in his secret hideout–“

“Secret hideout?”

She grabbed a hold of Holly and looked into her eyes.

“Please take me there, Holly...”

“Okay! Come with me, I’ll take you.” And the little girl took the grieving woman by the hand and headed towards the perimeter of the feasting circle.

Whisperings grew to their highest decibel yet no one actually seemed like they wanted to do anything about it, and so the two left together without any protest.

It was almost dark at this point. They headed on a path towards the western side of the canyon and got off between a break in the thick brush, crunching over fallen branches down below into an old riverbed.

Still holding the hand of the mother, Holly pointed with her other hand towards a large oak tree above them that grew right on the edge of the floodplain. The roots below were exposed and grew out like the tendrils of a huge monster. Holly let go of the lady’s hand and began parting the rhizomes. She held it open just enough for Philo’s mother to duck below and follow Holly beneath the tree. They found themselves in a small dugout underground structure that was more like a cave where makeshift seats made out clay were arranged and some leftover shells of acorns.

“I guess he’s not here…” Holly sadly said.

“Hold on– “

Philo’s mom squatted down and pulled a piece of cloth from under some sediment. She dusted it off.

“Philo had this hat on this morning…”

“That means he might be close by, right?”

Without an answer the mother exited her son’s ‘secret hideout’ on the lookout for something. Holly followed outside and watched her scan the ground.

“Here it is!”

The little girl quickly jogged over to what she was looking down at: a pair of small footprints in the sand that lead away from the oak tree. They then followed the trail for some time until Philo’s mom slowed down and stopped.

Looking forward, away from Holly who was just catching up with her she said, “Oh my– This is not good.” And drooped her head even further down in torment. “They lead right out of the canyon!” She began crying again and nothing else.

Holly stood by her side and began patting her on the back.

“It’ll be okay ma’am. Philo is a smart boy. He’ll come back soon.”

“If only we had gotten a new shipment of stones this year, then none of this would have happened! I would have given him mine, if it hadn’t broken…” She said more to the universe and less to Holly.

The little girl continued to help comfort the older female.

Suddenly she stopped her wailing and her emotions began to shift. She got up abruptly and said “Come on, Holly let’s go back. Someone there has got to help me… they just got to.”

They approached the circle, this time Philo’s mom being more collected, but when they got within yelling distance, everyone promptly got up and began getting excited. Before the weeping mother could make her pleas, the villagers were all heading off to the periphery of the village into the darkness of the night. When Holly and Philo’s mom caught up with the group, they were gathered together and began making a human chain around a tall mound. They gleefully looked at each other, and tried their bests to lift their necks up to see the summit where hundreds of baskets had been clustered earlier that day.

Anticipation was in the air as everyone quieted down and waited with obvious expectation for something to happen.

Over the normal sounds of crickets chirping and frogs croaking, there came a buzzing noise, that was soft at first, but grew evermore louder as it approached. Villagers stamped their feet up down, danced, and bobbed their heads in excitement. Through the black of night, dozens of tiny lights zoomed towards their location. What looked like a large swarm of insects flew over the mound and began loudly hovering above. A net almost the size of the man-made hill was produced and collected on all sides by the flying-things, and they slowly descended upon the produce, effortlessly covering the whole supply of the harvest and scooping them up without any droppings. Swiftly, they tugged the hefty cargo into the air and just as quickly as they came, the insect-things soared off towards where the sun sets.

An eruption of cheers resounded around the mound and the villagers happily and openly cheered for all their hard work that was now gone. They shook each other’s hands and patted each other on the backs.

The mother of Philo approached the celebrating crowd, still with her son’s hat in her hand and large, moist eyes, she searched for someone she could confide in.

“Excuse me… Could you– “

The happy hunchbacked villagers either did not see her or were plainly ignoring her words as they turned their rears towards her.

A man who held his head up slightly higher than the rest approached Philo’s Mom.

“Now, what seems to be the problem, Ann?”

“Oh, Bing, it’s absolutely horrible. My son, Philo, he’s run away and left the canyon!”

“That’s impossible, Ann. No one leaves the canyon, it’s just not like us. He’s probably hiding somewhere on the outskirts, playing a mean trick on you. I’m sure he’ll be back by tomorrow morning.”

“But I saw his footprints. They were heading out of the canyon into the wilderness!”

“Well, regardless, since it’s nighttime and we won’t be able to easily find him in the dark, we should wait until tomorrow morning before harvest and a few of us will go out and search for him. How does that sound?”

Ann, Philo’s mom, nodded her head slowly, remorsefully, in agreement, being she wasn’t given much choice.

“Besides, you have nothing to worry about. Our lands aren’t known for any dangerous beasts like they tell in the tales. And he knows how to feed himself. He’s perfectly safe out there.”

“I guess– I guess you’re right…”

“I know it will be hard, but try to get some rest and we will start looking at the break of day, okay?”

Everyone was dispersing, heading back to their bamboo huts.

“Okay… I will. Thank you for helping me out, I appreciate it.” Ann said sulkily

“Of course, Ann. I know you would do the same thing for me. Alright, I’m going home to get some rest. Please make sure you do the same… Come along Holly…”

Bing took the little girl by the hand and waved goodbye.

“Did you see me, daddy? I tried helping Miss Ann tonight find Philo…” The little girl told her father as they left the mother standing there alone.