Alya the Pathmaker - The Tiny Stone Cylinder

Beginning…

My mum once told me that every soul in our

universe is governed by a planet, and once the body

dies, the soul floats towards its home in the heavens.

“When the time comes for me to return to my planet,

you can visit me whenever you want. Just follow the

stars dipped in sparkling gold dust,” she said.

She loved drawing pictures of the skies. To her,

it was like speaking in another language. From stars to

planets, comets to asteroids, she could understand the

conversations between billions of objects in our

galaxy. Sadly, I never had the chance to learn

more because soon after my ninth birthday, she died

in a traffic accident.

Now, I lie on my bed every evening, staring at

the sky, hoping to see my mum one more time and tell

her how much I miss her.

Venus was her planet, that glittering morning

and evening star camouflaged by heavy clouds.



Chapter One: The Tiny Stone Cylinder



It was a bleak, gusty Sunday evening in September,

the twenty-fifth day of the month. I was lying on

my bed, staring at the sky through the large

windows that covered half the ceiling. The clock read

twelve minutes past nine. The stars looked ever so

shiny, even through the gloomy smog that buried the

entire sky. There was Capella, the sixth brightest star

in the night sky, twirling at Vega with her golden,

glistening sparks. Near to Vega was Deneb, a

supergiant star, chattering along with Altair, furiously

twinkling blue and white beams. It seemed like

something alarming was about to happen.

Only a few planets were visible tonight. Mars,

God of War, the bravest warrior of all, was pushing

towards rebellious Uranus. Perhaps he was getting

ready for his next conquest. Jupiter, King of the

Gods, was racing in between them, creating an illusion

of galloping amongst the stars beyond counting. They

all looked very awake, as though there were millions

of people living on them.

In my right hand, I was firmly holding a tiny

stone cylinder that my mother had left for me before

she died. Just this morning, my father had decided it

was time for me to have it. After such a surprise, I

should have been filled with joy, yet my face had

blushed bright red with annoyance. Why had he

waited so long to give it to me? It made no sense. I’d

ground my teeth and given him a mirthless smile,

impossible for him to ignore.

“It’s what your mum wanted,” Dad moaned,

with a defensive note in his voice. “She strictly told

me to give you that stone thing this morning.”

“Why today?” I asked, expecting an explanation.

What was so special about 25 September 2018?

Dad couldn’t say, or he chose not to.

Looking for clues, I held the stone cylinder in my

hands, right in front of my eyes. No use. My room

was as dark as a cave, and it was impossible to see

anything. Hardly surprising. There were no lights in

the room except for the small bedside lamp that

hadn’t worked since my last birthday. That was nearly

seven months ago.

Just as I slid the cylinder upwards, under the

moonlight, spears of light pushed their way through the

windows on the ceiling, brightening the dimmed room.

I could even see the small flakes of paint falling from

the old, crumbling walls. In an instant, strange symbols

appeared on the outer surface of the cylinder. They

shimmered and then faded away like an illusion. It must

have been the glare from the stars.

Feeling exhausted, I closed my eyes and instantly

found myself travelling up to space in a tiny glass

spaceship, wearing my pyjamas.

“Odd,” I muttered. Would I be able to breathe in

space without a special suit? That was a question for my

teacher, Mrs. Higgins.

As my spaceship broke through the Earth’s

atmosphere, the murky shadows of city lights below

started to get smaller and smaller with each passing

second. Soon, I could only see snow-painted peaks

and clear-blue waters.

My mind was stirred by memories of the past. A

wonderful sense of hope that I was going to find my

mum filled my heart with great joy. It was so easy to

picture her face in my mind now, her dark brown curls

falling across her shoulders, and her oval-shaped hazel

eyes watching me, as always, with a patient smile.

Suddenly, a huge blast of light exploded like a

thousand fireworks in one blow, followed by a bolt of

lightning that tore across the stars. Out of nowhere, a

giant robot with bizarre hands like cranes appeared,

grabbing anything it could in total silence. It was as tall

as the trees in our garden. A group of tiny metal

creatures emerged from all around the robot, with long

tails and gigantic mouths in their bellies. They moved

aimlessly, in packs, all of them silent as well. Perhaps it

wasn’t possible to hear sound in space? Well, there was

another question for Mrs. Higgins.

Above it all, an array of never-ending tracks

crossed in every direction like a massive cobweb. The

tracks looked a lot like luggage conveyor belts in an

airport. In slow-motion, the space robot placed a few

objects onto the tracks. Everything else, it clumsily

shoved into the mouths of the metal creatures that

battled for the junk as if they were predators going

after their prey.

As soon as the metal creatures gobbled the bulk

of the space junk, they wagged their long tails to show

how happy they were. Next, they passed through a

circular disk surrounded by multi-coloured flashing

lights with flames in the middle, which glittered from

all angles. A few moments later, the metal creatures

returned for more.

Could this well-lit disk be a gateway of sorts? I

wondered where it led to. Maybe a planet, or even

another galaxy. Maybe Venus.

Maybe it led to my mum.

Flustered, I barely noticed the giant robot was

advancing towards me. After all, I could hear nothing.

In a flash, the enormous junk machine clasped hold

of my spaceship and heaved it onto one of the tracks

above.

My heart pounded like an alarm clock. Afraid of

what might happen next, I tried to get the giant

robot’s attention by hammering on the glass cover of

the spaceship with my fists. It didn’t work. The robot

kept on coming, closer and closer.

Gathering all my breath, I screamed,

“Hellooooo!”

It didn’t answer.

I breathed air onto the glass to form a fog and

wrote ‘Hello’ with my fingers. The robot leaned its shiny

metal head gently towards me and stared blankly at the

writing before the word evaporated slowly into thin air.

Maybe it couldn’t read the reversed letters from the other

side of the glass.

Then, mirroring my actions, it blew a powerful

shot of steam onto the glass and used its sharp crane

fingers to scribble some words. It was a good thing

the robot used backwards writing, because if not, I

wouldn’t be able to read the letters.

‘MUZU ANA?’ it wrote. What language was

that? French, or maybe Spanish?

Growing impatient, the robot’s rectangular eyes

opened as wide as my classroom windows, then it

pointed at itself and wrote ‘Aki’ on the steamy glass. I

was watching its every move, but still, I had no idea

what the robot was trying to tell me.

Next, the robot placed its hands on the glass and

stared into my eyes. Not sure why, I moved my hands

and placed them against the robot’s crane fingers.

With the glass between us, I eventually met its eyes.

They glowed bright orange.

Then, something strange happened. Something

very unusual. The voice of the robot vibrated in my

mind even though it said nothing. Aki was its name,

and it wanted to know mine.

‘Alya.’ I jotted my name on the steamy glass

cover and waved at the giant robot with a big smile on

my face. Clearly not interested, the robot stepped away

from the spaceship and gave me a haunted look, as if

something was terribly wrong. In a flash, the giant

junk-box flew up and disappeared behind the dazzling

stars, into a black void.

I was so happy I hadn’t ended up in the metal

creature’s belly, but I had no clue where I was, or

where the spaceship was taking me. An infinite

number of objects drifted around, but not on the

track, which seemed to have an invisible deflective

shield shoving away anything that came close.

Floating steady, I watched the glittering stars

dancing elegantly like swans on a lake. It was hard to

tell how long I had been on this path. It must have

been days, maybe even weeks, though my watch was

still showing twelve minutes past nine. Maybe clocks

didn’t work in space. That was a question for Mrs.

Higgins too, should I ever return.

After a powerful engine roar, the capsule began

to move much faster. The loudest scream escaped my

mouth, echoing all around me. Engine roar? Something

must have boosted my hearing; I could pick up even

the quietest sound now. Maybe I had developed

superpowers in space! I couldn’t wait to tell Ben, my

best friend. For now, though, it was time to focus. Not

far ahead, the track looked damaged. As I moved

closer, I realised how grave the situation was. The path

had split through the middle. Dangerous-looking

bundles of cables were hanging everywhere, flickering

and making quirky sounds. It would be impossible to

jump over to the other side. Unless I did something

quickly, the capsule would plunge through the black

pit, and I would fall with it. More superpowers would

be very handy now . If only I knew where to get

some…

I was almost in the middle of the track, and

sparks from the damaged cables were dropping onto

my spaceship, melting wherever they fell. My heart

was beating heavily in my chest. A loud voice echoed

through the track. For sure, it was calling my name.

“Alya… Alya Manning…"

The voice became stronger the closer I got to

the broken part of the track. Desperately, I searched for

buttons, anything to control the ship, but there was

nothing except an empty dashboard.

The ship failed to stop and fell down into the

dark, dark hole. I scrunched my eyes tight and hooted

with all my might, but there was no one to hear.

In a blink, I escaped the metal creatures and the

giant robot, passed meteoroids, passed stars, entered

the Earth’s orbit, bounced through the clouds…and

then everything blacked out.

Funny, someone was still calling my name.

“Alya? Alya, are you listening? Turn the light off

and go to sleep!”

To my relief, the deep, croaky voice belonged to

my dad. Okay, hard to believe but I was very pleased

to hear him. Even my surroundings were familiar

now: my fluffy, soft bed, worn-out mahogany

wardrobe, and large ceiling windows. This was my

very own room. But…how strange. The lamp beside

my bed, the one that hadn’t worked since my last

birthday, was glowing bright yellow. In my right hand,

I was tightly clasping the tiny stone cylinder. The stars

were still shining through my ceiling windows, and the

clock on the wall read just thirteen minutes past nine.

Chapter 2: The Trip to the British Museum

The barely warm autumn sunlight was still

bright enough to break my sleep before the

old alarm clock rattled. My whole body felt

jet-lagged, as you would expect after a very long

journey. It was difficult to say whether I had travelled

to space in a tiny glass spaceship or if it was only a

dream. I gazed at the stone cylinder in the palm of my

right hand. All the writing on it had vanished, and it

looked rather ordinary now. Maybe it was just a simple

gift from my mum. Something to help me remember

her.

I packed my school bag, dressed in my uniform,

and sped down the stairs for breakfast. Dad looked

baffled to see me up and ready so early.

“Well, this is a surprise. I guess someone can’t

wait to go to school today,” he sniggered, with a big

cheesy grin on his face. “Anything exciting

happening?”

On any other day, I would have challenged him,

but not today. My mind was already distracted with

countless questions, and I had no interest in banter.

“Can I get my packed lunch please?” I asked,

nicely.

Puzzled by my politeness, Dad tried to say

something, but I quickly interrupted him.

“Thanks, Dad. See ya later.”

His face blushed a deep red, and he burbled

something. I didn’t have the slightest idea what he

said, and I did not care. To be honest, he often spoke

a lot of nonsense.

I found Ben at the front entrance of school,

standing like an important ancient monument, proud

and grand. Something didn’t look right. He wasn’t

wearing his school uniform.

“Why are you dressed like this?” I quizzed him.

“What do you mean, why am I dressed like this?

Why are you in your school uniform?”

“Hmm, let’s see…” I tapped my finger against

my chin. “I guess, because we are at school?”

“Not again.” Ben sighed heavily. “You forgot,

didn’t you?”

“Forgot what?”

“The trip to the British Museum.”

Oh no… I suddenly remembered today was the

day of our school trip, and I’d totally forgotten about

it. “Whoops!” I chuckled nervously. “I was distracted

by the stone cylinder, then my journey to space. The

trip just slipped from my mind.”

Ben looked at me with his dull grey eyes as if I

was crazy. “What cylinder? What space journey?” he

asked.

Taking out the tiny stone object from my bag, I

placed it in his hands. The cylinder turned orange and

burned hot, like the barbecue in our garden. He

dropped the cylinder on the floor and let out a

muffled scream, licking his palm like a dog where the

cylinder had left a strange red mark.

“Are you okay?” I asked, picking up the stone

cylinder.

“Yeah… What just happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied, holding the cylinder

out in my hand for him to see.

Ben examined the stone cylinder like an expert

detective, then his face lit up with excitement. For a

minute, I thought he had unravelled the mystery. It

was a short-lived thought.

“What is it?” he asked with wide, interested eyes.

“Not sure. For all I know , Mum gave it to Dad

to keep safe.”

“Did he not tell you what it’s for?”

“He said he doesn’t know. Mum told him to give

it to me on 25 September, 2018.”

“Why? Is it a special day?”

“I don’t think so. It’s all very confusing.”

Ben, looking more serious than usual, straightened

his glasses. “We need to first uncover when this thing

was made, and then, we should be able to figure out

what you can do with it,” he said. “Maybe it is from

ancient times. Maybe it belonged to a king, or to

someone very important. It looks pretty old,” he

continued.

A king? I had never heard such nonsense! Why

would my mum have something that belonged to a

king? And what facts were there to show the cylinder

was old?

“If only I could understand the symbols on it,”

I muttered.

“What symbols? There is nothing on it,” Ben

grumbled as we filed into the school hall.

“Well, they were there yesterday evening. I held

the cylinder up, and strange symbols appeared on it.

They were like pictures or writing.”

He was about to say something, but Ms. Ingham,

our headteacher, began to torment us with a lengthy

speech about the rules—yes, the rules—for our school

trip. You know, “Do this, don’t do that…” We’d

learned quickly that we must be silent when Ms.

Ingham was talking, unless we wanted to stay in

during lunch break and stare at the empty walls with

dirty scribble marks all over them.

The tube journey from Finchley Central to

Euston Station was a short and easy one. After, we

had a painstaking walk that felt like running a twenty-

six-mile marathon. Believe it or not, that’s one mile

more than what the Roman soldiers would march in a

day. We walked—or, shall I say, dragged our legs—

through Tavistock Square, which was decorated with

a beautiful garden on the left and stylish Georgian

houses on the right. Then, we strolled by Russell

Square, another small park with towering trees.

“Weather permitting, we will have our lunch in

this park,” said Ms. Ingham, sounding unhopeful. No

one could blame her. London, our great capital city,

was rather famous for its constant rain, so it was best

to not get our hopes up.

A right turn into Montague Road, and there it

was: the side entrance to the British Museum. Personally,

I liked the front entrance on Great Russell Street

better. With its magnificent columns and sculptures,

it resembled the portico of a Greek temple rather

than a museum. I used to come here with my mum at

least once a month, and that was the entrance we

always used. She would chat to this old gentleman

with large rectangular glasses covering almost all of

his face. I think he was called Mr. Benson.

A member of the museum education team, with

the name tag ‘Grace,’ welcomed us. She was dressed

very smartly and wearing her straight, light brown hair

in a low bun. She looked serious but charming at the

same time.

“Welcome to the British Museum. Are you ready

to walk through history?” she asked in a cheerful

voice.

“Yes!” we answered as loudly as we could.