The Enchanted Emerald (The Enchanted Stones Book 1)

by Donald Craghead

  She entered the building. The first room inside was cavernous. Throughout the room was a large number of old wooden desks and chairs and along the walls were crumbling shelves filled with old books. Not just a few, but hundreds, maybe thousands of books. Most were unreadable and would crumble when touched, but some were still in good enough condition. This was Michael’s favorite room.

  Sarah’s reading abilities were poor at best, although her uncle had taught her enough to operate the business. She quickly found that was not enough to wade through the massive volumes that Michael always kept in front of him. She quickly tired of the books and even their pictures. They were of people, places, and things she could not comprehend. Michael would spend hours in this room reading about ancient times and ancient places. It all seemed quite useless to Sarah.

  Farther back in the building were other rooms also filled with shelves of the books, and more of the old wooden desks.

  Upon entering, she saw Michael sitting at one of the desks with a large book open in front of him. The room was lit by one large candle on his table. Next to him was the crossbow and bolts that Oliver had insisted he keep with him when he made these trips into the woods. As evening fell, the wilder animals would become bolder and Sarah’s friends wanted to be sure that he could protect her if the need arose.

  She felt warm and loved as she quietly crossed the room to Michael’s side. He jumped as he became aware of her next to him. She laughed lightly at him as she bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

  “What are you reading about now?” she asked.

  “Another country,” he answered as he returned her kiss. “It’s on the other side of the world.”

  “Sounds very interesting.” She gave a mock yawn and patted her mouth to show her boredom.

  “I can tell you’re overcome with excitement.”

  “So how long before you’re ready to go?”

  “Oh, I guess we could...”

  Sarah screamed as the wooden door behind her burst from its rusty hinges. Outlined against the darkening sky, lit only by the dull glow of the single candle, she could see the silhouette of a short thick man. As he stalked across the room she recognized him as the stranger from the bar. The man everyone avoided. The man that had made her feel so uncomfortable. He was thickly muscled, wearing dirty traveling clothes, his head and face stained with the grime that revealed a hard journey. He must have spent a month, maybe more, of traveling the roads and forests, sleeping in the open. She wondered if this man bothered with sleep. All these thoughts flashed through her mind in a moment, the time it took the assassin to reach the center of the room.

  “You know you can’t deny me,” rasped the apparition. “Acantha would see you dead. I am here to do her bidding.”

  As the intruder took another lumbering step toward the pair, Michael grabbed the crossbow beside him, and with a strength aided by terror, wrenched the bowstring back and fitted a bolt in place with a speed that would have astonished him, had he a moment to consider it. In vain desperation, Michael barely paused to aim as he fired the weapon at his attacker. The bolt sprang from the bow as Sarah shrank from the violence. The assassin crashed to the floor as the bolt buried into his chest nearly to the fletching. Sarah gaped at the fallen assassin with terror in her eyes.

  Her terror intensified as the would-be slayer lurched to his feet, the bolt protruding from his chest in mocking defiance of the one who shot it. Not a drop of blood could be seen on his grimy tunic. As he continued his ponderous advance toward them, Michael grabbed Sarah by the arm, pulling her with him as he fled the room. If he moved quickly enough, and they could escape from the building before the assassin reached them, he thought, perhaps they might have a chance.

  Sarah raced through the rear of the building in confusion and blind terror, her arm still tightly clasped in Michael’s iron grip. A part of her mind could still hear the assassin blundering through the dark building behind them.

  Shelves of ancient books, chairs and desks were being dodged or toppled in their haste. Behind her she could hear the crashing destruction as the stranger tried to shove his way through the unfamiliar building. Rather than passing smoothly around obstacles, as Michael and Sarah did, the maniac seemed to prefer to smash through everything in his way.

  Sara charged into Michael before she could see he had stopped. They were outdoors now, having escaped through the rear door. Barely ten yards beyond the building, they were canopied by the unconcerned forest and the twinkling of the first stars of the night.

  Michael dropped his crossbow on the ground beside him and let loose of Sarah’s arm, his hands moving to the sides of his head, eyes wide and staring. He spun and faced the building. Sarah could see the assassin approaching the doorway. She recoiled as the building filled with a vibrant green light and imploded with a force that knocked her off her feet.

  She barely had time to catch her breath before Michael pulled her to her feet and they were running toward the forest. Still in the midst of confusion, she did not hear his question until he repeated it.

  “We need help and supplies, will Oliver help us? Sarah?”

  “What? Oh...Oliver; yes, of course, Oliver will help us.”

  They stopped running and slowed to a walk when Sarah began gasping for breath. Her fear finally overcame the confusion when she thought of the sinister man that had attacked them and his unstoppable onslaught.

  It was dark now and a heavy wet fog began to enclose them, heightening the dread of the night. The silence and the closeness of the overgrown woods and thick brush gave life to Sarah’s panicked imagination. Soon she felt death and destruction was concealed around every turn of the path, hidden behind every shadowy tree.

  Inside the fallen building, the assassin was clawing at the rubble that held him from his quarry.

  CHAPTER 4

  As shock replaced confusion and terror, Sarah began shaking as though chilled. Michael wrapped his woolen cloak about her shoulders and they continued toward town. They walked through the unnaturally peaceful forest for just a few minutes before Sarah spoke.

  “What in the world happened back there, Michael? What’s going on?”

  Michael ran his fingers through his fog-dampened hair and sighed. He looked behind him and shook his head as he continued to lead Sarah out of the forest and back into town.

  “It’s such a long and confusing story. I don’t know how or where to begin.”

  “Well, how about at the beginning. Who was that madman, and why did he want to kill you?”

  She slowed almost to a stop as she asked her questions.

  “Come on,” urged Michael gently. “Keep walking. I’ll tell you all I can when we get to Oliver’s. I don’t want to be around here when he gets out of that building.”

  “When he gets out of the building?!” she exclaimed. “What are you talking about? Surely he’s dead. That whole building collapsed on top of him. He’s buried underneath all that rubble with your crossbow bolt in his chest. You don’t really believe he’s going to survive that, do you?”

  “Well, survive is not quite the right word. Look, just believe me that it’s important that we get away from here. I’ll explain everything at Oliver’s.”

  Sarah pulled her gaze from Michael’s pleading face and peered at the eerily quiet forest surrounding them.

  “I give up. We’ll go on to Oliver’s, but then I want to know what’s happening.”

  It was nearly ten minutes later when the two frightened young people approached the end of the wildly overgrown forest.

  During the short trip to the village, Michael was berating himself for putting Sarah in such danger. He had no right to drag her into this. And now Croom, or Acantha through Croom, knew about Sarah and would use her to get to him. Everett had told him that Acantha would stop at nothing to regain the emerald, and Michael had just seen the proof of that.

  How was he going to explain all of this to Sarah? Further, how was he going to explain it to Oliver? Oliver had alwa
ys been Sarah’s chief protector. He wasn’t going to be pleased with Michael. If he could persuade Oliver to help them reach the Cruz Mountains, his old teacher would help them.

  There was another problem. He had not told Sarah that he was a magician. Magicians were not held in high regard. The only thing that people knew about magicians was that they nearly destroyed the world in another age.

  Would Sarah understand or would she draw away from him when he told her that he was an apprentice magician? He didn’t like the fact that he had hidden this from her, but it hardly made sense to go around bragging about something that everyone else viewed with fear and superstition.

  As they finally walked out from the forest into the village, Sarah was struck by the sinister aspect of the town that she had known so well. The terror of the night made her aware of how strange the tall buildings were. Some were still standing complete, but most were just hulks of what they must have been. Row after row of darkened, glassless windows glared defiantly. So many buildings, so many rooms. What kind of people could have built such structures? How could they have managed such a thing?

  Everywhere there were rusted and crumbling metal wagons that the people of those days used for travel. Heavy cumbersome relics. These old hulks, Michael had told her, had at one time traveled under their own power without the need for horses to pull them. How could that be? They just squatted where they were as if they had been there from the beginning of time; sitting there as if they were a decrepit joke left by their ancestors.

  All of these things she had seen before, but had never paid any real attention to. Now everywhere Sarah looked were reminders of a time that was dead. Reminders of a world that was dead. She shuddered to think such thoughts on this night of all nights.

  They continued toward the docks, across the cracked and broken ancient concrete that had been made for those strange metal wagons. As they approached Oliver’s old cabin, they were both aware of the stillness in the air. It was as if the entire waterfront was aware of the deadly assassin that had invaded their peaceful village, and everyone had all locked themselves behind closed doors and shuttered windows to disavow any responsibility for the dangers that threatened.

  In truth, the graveyard quiet was the result of hard working men and women that retired with the sun. This part of the town was inhabited by the fishermen that would be up before dawn to put in a hard day’s work before the rest of the town was stirring.

  Within a stone’s throw from the edge of the shoreline they had constructed several rough wooden structures for living space, using salvaged wood and unknown harder substances from the deserted buildings in the village. The appearance was of temporary shacks, thrown up hurriedly.

  These were rugged men who cared not for beauty in their homes, but in strength and durability to withstand the few, but harsh, winter storms that would batter the coast.

  Oliver’s cabin was just such a structure; strong and durable despite the old weather-beaten appearance. He would have been surprised to hear that a description of his cabin could have been used to describe him as well.

  Not a handsome man, he had deep creases born from the harsh ocean winds covering his worn face and a nose that looked as though it would be more at home in a potato field rather than in the middle of someone’s face. His body, though more ample than might be necessary, was strong. The hardness of his muscles was the result of a lifetime on the waters, plying his trade. In spite of Oliver’s rough exterior, his kindness and gentle spirit showed in his soft brown eyes. The softness of his eyes was balanced by strong jutting brows that suggested one should be careful of pushing this gentle man too far.

  He had been sleeping soundly when the persistent knocking roused him. He did not feel alarmed as he stumbled through the darkened interior, but rather confused that someone would be at his door at such a late hour.

  It would be useless for thieves to come to the door of a fisherman’s shack as there was nothing to steal, and even less likely that they would knock. Oliver had no enemies, so it was with a sleepy smile that he opened the door to his friends. His smile was replaced with a concerned look when he saw Sarah, obviously frightened and confused.

  “Good heavens child, come on in. Just stand there while I light a lamp.”

  Michael stood with a protective arm around Sarah, just inside the entrance to the old shack, while Oliver lit the oil lamps. It was a typical fisherman’s shack littered with cork, pieces of netting, various tools for keeping his boat in operating condition, and other tools of his trade. The walls were covered with shelving containing random shells, polished driftwood, carvings, and an abundance of dust. Where the floors met with the walls there was similar clutter. Worthless keepsakes of a man that had lived alone, seemingly forever.

  Once the lamps were lit Michael led Sarah to an old wooden table with benches on either side, where they sat to wait for the inevitable questions that needed to be answered.

  “So, what is this, child?” asked Oliver, as he joined them at the table. “You look badly frightened. What happened?” He brought three mugs of tea, still warm from the old wood burning stove in the corner that was providing heat in the cabin.

  Michael quickly explained to Oliver what had happened. When he had completed the telling of the attack, he told them both of the urgency to leave Monterey.

  “I don’t quite understand the need to run any further, Michael. It sounds as though the fellow that attacked you is quite dead. Of course, I’d like to know what caused the building to collapse at such an opportune time.”

  Michael stopped to gather his thoughts as he rubbed his face with both hands. “This fellow, as you call him, that attacked us is dead all right. But he was already dead when he burst through the front door. I killed him myself a couple of months ago!”

  Sarah threw her arms up in despair. “I give up, Michael. Life was very normal for me up until about an hour ago. What do you mean he was already dead? How in the world could a dead man be walking, talking, and trying to kill you? He said Acantha had sent him. Who is Acantha? Why does she want you dead?”

  “Well, I’m trying to explain,” continued Michael. “I just need to think about how to say it all.”

  Oliver gave Michael a stern look as he leaned across the table. “Form your thoughts if you have to, but I think it’s about time you got to the truth. Start at the beginning.”

  Michael took a deep breath to steel his nerves before plunging ahead with the story that could cause both of his friends to turn against him.

  “The man who attacked us, if you wish to call him a man, is controlled through sorcery. Croom was his name. When I knew him, he was at his best when he was bullying or tyrannizing someone. Now...well, what better role for him to play than a ghoul.”

  “Sorcery! But why you, Michael,” interrupted Sarah. “Why is he trying to kill you? And who is this Acantha that sent him after you?”

  Michael sighed. “Do you know anything about the magician’s enclave that was south of here?”

  Sarah said she did not, but Oliver, having traveled up and down the entire coast, did.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. There’s a whole nest of those magicians down there doing heaven only knows what,” he spat.

  “Well, there’s no nest of magicians now,” Michael continued tentatively, “that’s where I came from before I showed up here in Monterey. It was there that I killed Croom. He’s the man that just attacked us,” he added.

  “Wait a minute!” cried Sarah as she lurched to her feet. “Are you saying that you’re a magician?”

  “Well...yes. I was a learning member at the enclave. I was an apprentice of magic, as was my sister. My sister is Acantha.”

  “Heavens, Michael!” continued Sarah. “You killed a man a few months ago who isn’t really dead, and now he’s trying to kill you, and you’re telling me you’re a magician and your sister is a sorceress!”

  Oliver slumped in his chair as if greatly disappointed. “Not just any sorceress, mind you,” h
e said quietly, “but Acantha. I’ve heard tales of her recently from the seamen who come into port. She’s been capturing the crews from ships that come too close to shore. Now no one in their right mind goes near that castle she lives in.”

  Oliver suddenly sat erect and slammed his fist down on the table with a force that knocked Michael’s cup of tea into the air. When it landed, it was on its side with the contents spilling across the table. Michael nearly jumped out of his seat.

  “I had hopes for you, boy,” Oliver grated. “I’ve watched over Sarah as if she were my own ever since her Uncle Gus died. Now you have put her in a danger that could have been avoided. If I had known what I know now, I would have chased you out of town the first time I laid eyes on you.” Anger built up in him. “A frigging’ magician! How could you have fallen for a magician, Sarah?”

  “I didn’t know he was a magician,” answered Sarah, confused and upset. When she saw the fallen look on Michael’s face she instinctively wanted to protect him in spite of what she had just learned. “I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t mean it like that, but why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Because of the fear and superstition everyone feels about magic. Because of the fear you’re showing right now.”

  “With good cause, seems to me,” said Oliver, as he glared at Michael.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” said Sarah quickly as she regained her seat next to Michael. “Let’s leave all of the blaming until we hear the rest of the story.”

  Oliver left the table to get a cloth to clean the spilled tea. When he returned he tossed the cloth to Michael. “O.K., go ahead. We’re listening.”

  Michael blotted the tea from the table as he continued his tale. “Acantha wasn’t always feared. She used to be a good person. Someone you would like to have for a sister.”

  “Right,” snorted Oliver sarcastically.

  Michael took another deep breath before resuming. He had known this was not going to be easy, but now that he was facing Oliver, he wished he were anywhere other than in front of Sarah’s chief protector.