The Enchanted Emerald (The Enchanted Stones Book 1)

by Donald Craghead

  “I was hunting in an area I should not have been in. There had been a mama bear and a couple of her cubs reported in the area by some of the other mountain folk. Believe me, if you see a couple of bear cubs, head in the opposite direction, ‘cause if the mama’s nearby she won’t be happy to see you.”

  Sarah began scanning the surrounding woods. Oliver could not help smiling at the wide eyes of the innocent young woman.

  “I damn near bumped into that bear,” Thomas continued. “She had to have been over eight feet tall. Boy, was she pissed to see me; ah...sorry, ma’am,” he added for Sarah’s sake.

  “She roared, and swatted at me. Like to caved in my chest. Next thing I know I’m flat on my back with this raging beast standing over me. She was roaring, and clawing at the air, muscles rippling as if she was fighting the air to get at me. I was so frightened, that it took me nearly a minute to realize she wasn’t coming any closer. Just clawing at the air and roaring, but she wasn’t moving.

  “Pretty soon this little roly-poly fella comes trotting over to me. ‘You all right?’ he asked me. Now mind you this eight foot bear is standing over me screaming at the wind, and here’s this little bitty fella leaned over with his hands on his knees, looking at me, asking if I was all right!”

  “So...this little guy put a hex or something on the bear. Is that right, Thomas?” asked Oliver thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s what he did. At least he did something, or I wouldn’t be here talking about it.”

  The tale told, a few minutes later the group continued deeper into the Cruz Mountains to find the roly-poly Everett. Oliver did not join in the friendly banter. He remained silent, deep in thought.

  Perhaps all of this time he had been wrong about magicians, Oliver thought. One tends to grow up learning prejudices from those around them. In retrospect he could not remember ever having met a magician personally, except Michael. He had been quite fond of the boy, until he had learned of his past.

  The stories he was now hearing about Everett just did not match with the previous opinion of magicians that had been induced by fear and prejudice. He sounded like a kind, gentle man.

  “So what happened to the bear, Thomas?” Oliver finally asked.

  “What bear?” replied Thomas. He was confused by the return to the earlier subject.

  “You know, the bear that attacked you. The one Everett put a hex on.”

  “Oh...nothing.”

  “What do you mean nothing? He must have done something with the bear. Did he kill it? Did he make it disappear...what?”

  “No, nothing like that,” replied Thomas with a shrug. “He helped me away from the area. I don’t know how he did that either, considering the size of me. Then when we were far enough away, the bear lurched forward as if some invisible hand that was holding her was taken away. She went back to her cubs and away they went.”

  The next hour of traveling was done in silence, though the shared thought was that they were all thankful the old magician had spared the life of the mother bear.

  Finally Thomas called a halt.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  “What?” replied Michael, instantly alert. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Quiet, and listen,” Thomas ordered.

  As they all stood still, the normal forest sounds began to lessen. Eventually human sounds began to reach them.

  Oliver was the first to speak. “It sounds like someone is giggling.”

  Sarah looked over to Michael with her brows knitted together as though in question.

  “What is it, Thomas?” he asked.

  “Weed people, I think. This is their territory.”

  As Sarah began to look around her, trying to see into the dense woods, and lush undergrowth, Thomas saw her apprehension.

  “Now don’t worry, Sarah. Believe me when I tell you they aren’t dangerous. They think they are, but they are as far from dangerous as you can get. Just go along with them.”

  Sarah did not feel reassured as she stood waiting to be captured by a group of mountain folk called the weed people. As they waited, the noise level of the marauding band of men became more raucous. The noise was quite often punctuated by uncontrolled giggling.

  Beyond the dense greenery, a strange assortment of men was approaching. Every one of them was as thin and underfed as Thomas was large and overfed. All were covered with long tangled, dirty hair and beards. Their clothing was rags.

  The men carried their most prized possessions – a small bone pipe held by a leather strap hanging around their filthy necks. Although small, the pipes were crafted with care, depicting handcarved scenes of the forest. Most of the pipes were handed down from generation to generation as a family heirloom. Contrary to the condition of the weed people themselves, the small bone pipes were obviously cared for reverently.

  Some of the men were actively smoking the weed-packed pipes as they clumped through the forest. The result was thirty pairs of glazed eyes.

  “Hey, shut up, you guys,” came the admonishment after one burst of prolonged giggling. “They be not much further. We needs to scare them. Giggling won’t do no scarin’.”

  “Okay?” demanded the evident leader. “Now we be splitting up, and circling round-abouts them. As we be circling, we be chanting.”

  Nearly thirty seconds passed before the leader erupted at his fellow weed smokers. “Well, what are you standing here looking at me for? Spread out!”

  His orders were answered by spurts of laughter and giggling. Along with the laughter was a chorus of, “Sshh! Sshh! Quiet, they’ll hear us.” Almost immediately the chanting began:

  “Tokin,’ tokin,’ we been-a-smokin’

  Come ‘round here and you’ll get broken.

  Tokin,’ tokin,’ we ain’t-a-jokin’

  Get outa here and don’t be pokin’.

  Tokin,’ tokin,’ we been-a-smokin’

  So leave right now cause we have spoken.

  The chant always ended with sounds of laughter that followed the ever-expanding circle that was moving around Michael’s group. The chanting ended when the circle was completed amid suppressed laughter. All was silent for scant seconds before the leader yelled, “Now, CHARGE!”

  Sarah stared in disbelief as a skinny, ill-kept man dressed in rags, came charging out of the cover of the woods. The wild man who was the leader was covered in more hair than even Thomas was able to match, and he looked as though he had not washed in months.

  He raced out of the woods at the group standing in the clearing. Shaking his fist and glowering, he rushed toward his intended prisoners. His charge slowed as he neared them and then he came to a complete stop. The fierce expression on his face changed to perplexity as he looked around him.

  The brush surrounding the clearing remained undisturbed and swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. He had rushed to the attack completely alone.

  He turned to gape one last time at the group of travelers, and with a crestfallen look on his face, turned and raced back to the woods.

  In a state of near panic, he crashed through a tangle of bushes and vines to return to the relative safety of concealment.

  Upon reaching the far side of the wall of brush bordering the clearing, he fell to his hands and knees to catch his failing breath.

  Attempting to regain his composure, he glared in all directions, searching for his hidden comrades.

  “All right you guys!” yelled the begrimed leader. “Why didn’t you follow me? I said ‘charge,’ and you’re supposed to charge when I say ‘charge’!”

  Amid more laughter, one of the band could be heard calling back to his leader, “What happened, Toby? You go out there and round them up yourself, did you?”

  Oliver stared at where the disheveled man had disappeared into the woods. While he was trying to comprehend the failed attack, the leader of the weed people was the target of nearly two minutes of cat-calls and jeers from his friends.

  “I don’t believe it, Thomas,” h
e was finally able to say. “They’re much more ridiculous than you said. They’re absolutely

  unbelievable!”

  “Yeah. I knew you would all stop worrying as soon as you saw them. I figured seeing is believing.”

  Inside the cover of the woods the leader of the weed people was still trying to organize the attack.

  “Now we’re gonna try this again. I’ll be yelling ‘charge’ and when I do, you’ll all be charging. Now get ready.”

  Once again the forest became still.

  “CHARGE!”

  From the forest ran thirty raggedly-dressed men. The woods were filled with the cacophony of the yelling, laughing, and giggling men.

  The leader of the group chose at that moment to trip over an exposed root. He fell yelling and screaming to the ground, with leaves, dirt, and the torn rags of his clothing flying in all directions.

  What little organization was achieved among the attackers collapsed into joyous disorder. Some of the men rolled on the ground, holding their sides as they laughed at their leader’s misfortune. Most ignored Michael and his friends as they rushed to their fallen leader.

  “Hey, Toby,” giggled the first to reach him, “what you be doing on the ground? You trying to fly, were you?”

  Soon the entire invading force surrounded the hapless Toby as they tried to help him. After they had helped him to his feet, and all had thanked him for giving them such an amusing afternoon, they turned to leave.

  “Michael, I think they have forgotten us,” said a disbelieving Sarah.

  “I think you’re right,” Michael answered as he watched the backs of the retreating force.

  “I was afraid this might happen,” said Thomas. “We’ll just have to help them. Hey, you guys!” he yelled at the weed people before they could reach the edge of the clearing. “Don’t hurt us! We’ll come quietly.”

  Toby turned around as though Michael’s group had snuck up on them. “There they are!” He rushed towards them as his supporters followed.

  “Don’t try to escape!” he yelled as he approached the four travelers. “We got weapons. We’ll use ‘em if we have to.”

  He turned to the nearest grimy weed smoker as he realized he did not have his weapon.

  “Hey, Pot-Face, who brought the clubs?”

  “I don’t know, Toby, I thought you brought them.”

  “Right, thirty clubs! You think I’m carrying thirty clubs! That stuff you’re smoking is going to your brain, boy.”

  Thomas could see this was getting them nowhere, and his patience was beginning to slip.

  “You don’t need any weapons, fellas. We can see we’re badly outnumbered. Michael, Sarah, Oliver, put your hands up, these guys captured us fair and square.”

  Sarah looked over at Michael; eyes asking the question she did not give voice to. Michael shrugged his shoulders, as confused as she was, but raised his hands anyway.

  Eventually the weed people were capable of tying the hands of the captives behind their backs. The one called Pot-Face was selected to bind Sarah’s hands.

  “I be sorry ‘bout tying you up and all, girlie, but we warned you to be gone when we was chantin’,” admonished the skinny man. His voice softened. “Now, you be tellin’ me if these ropes be too tight. Don’t want to hurt you none. Just don’t tell Toby that I be concerned ‘bout you.”

  “No,” Sarah replied to the man, “you’re not hurting me.” She looked to her captor with a friendly smile, which immediately caused his face to become scarlet red. He promptly covered his flushed face with his hands.

  “Hey, Pot-Face,” called Toby, “how you goin’ to watch her if you got your face covered up?”

  “Sorry, Toby,” he replied. “Must have gotten something in my eye.”

  “Right! Let’s go, then. Move ‘em out to camp!”

  It was not long after they began marching through the deep woods when Sarah noticed a problem beginning with her bonds.

  “Michael,” she whispered. “I think the rope they tied my hands with is coming undone.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he replied. “Mine has already come loose. Just catch it in your hands when it does, and hold it. As wasted as these people are, I doubt they’ll ever notice.”

  It was a short trip to the weed people’s camp. As they reached the boundaries of the camp, their captors once again forgot them as all thirty of the men ran shouting to their women about their brave deed. Michael and his friends were left standing on the outskirts of the makeshift village.

  “What do we do now?” asked Oliver.

  “We just go into the camp, and remind Toby to send a runner to Everett,” replied Thomas.

  Sarah stared around her at the squalor of the camp, as if the suggestion to enter might be avoided.

  All about the large clearing were makeshift lean-tos and huts, in varying degrees of disrepair. In the center of the camp were a number of rough wooden tables with the leaves of their cherished weeds drying in the sun.

  The women of the camp dropped what they were doing to rush to their returning men. Some of the women had been tending to the leaves drying in the sun; others were working the strong fibers into hemp rope.

  It was some time before Thomas was able to attract Toby’s attention to send a runner to Everett. Toby seemed not to notice that the prisoners’ hands were no longer tied.

  “Right!” Toby replied. “I’ll send someone to see the miracleman, and you will all be our guests tonight. There will be singing and dancing around the campfire in your honor.”

  To Sarah’s relief, it appeared they had changed from prisoners to honored guests.

  By the time the sun had fully set, the celebration was in full swing. Toby and his men had built a large bonfire, capable of providing warmth for all the men and women of the camp, as well as their prisoners turned guests.

  Along with two members of the camp, Thomas and Oliver took a short hunting trip that was rewarded with a full-size stag. That, plus the food supplies the weed people maintained, furnished a meal fit to the occasion.

  After eating, Sarah rested in Michael’s arms and watched the roaring fire. The camp members, men and women both, danced wildly around the fire. The music was a simple rhythm produced by beating clubs against hollow logs.

  The weed people used any occasion other than normal everyday activities as a reason to have a celebration. They were very practiced in the art of celebrating. This was evident by the joyous, uninhibited dancing, and the stirring beat of the music.

  Sarah was given only a brief time to relax before the giggling Pot-Face ran up to her.

  “Come on, Sarah! Dance around the fire with me.”

  “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know how to dance around a campfire, Pot-Face,” she replied with a laugh.

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” The persistent man was pulling her to her feet as everyone teased her.

  As Sarah attempted to match the dance pattern shown by her partner, she noticed Oliver had already been included in the festivities. He was truly jubilant as he cavorted around the fire with a woman a third his age.

  “This is wonderful fun, Sarah,” he shouted. “You should get into trouble more often.”

  Thomas moved over to sit on the ground beside Michael. Relaxed, the two men watched their companions dancing in laughter around the fire.

  “Oliver seems to be enjoying himself,” the big man offered. “That’s good, he was awfully tense when I first met you three.” “Well, with good reason, I’m afraid,” Michael replied.

  “Yeah, I know. He said he was never fond of magicians to begin with, and then he finds out you’re one. I think his opinion is softening a bit though. He has learned that you’re truly a good man.”

  Thomas gave Michael an appraising look before continuing. “You haven’t learned to live up to what you gotta do yet, but we both feel you will.”

  Michael was startled, and jerked his head to return the mountain-man’s look.

  “You two seem to have become confida
nts.”

  “We hunt together,” replied Thomas, as though that was explanation enough.

  “As far as not living up to my obligations is concerned,” Michael continued, as he looked back at the festivities, “there is more to the situation than you are aware of.”

  Thomas rose from the ground and stretched, with arms wide. “Doesn’t matter. I just feel you’ll do what’s needed. Now it’s to bed for me, we’ll probably get an early start in the morning.”

  Michael watched the back of the retreating giant as he considered their brief conversation. He wondered why everyone wanted him to do what he was set against. Why could he not just be left alone?

  As he sat there, lost in thought, Sarah returned from the wild dance around the fire. She expelled a great sigh as she fell into his arms.

  “I’m exhausted, Michael.” She wiped away the perspiration that had beaded on her forehead in spite of the brisk night air. “I think I needed this festive night. I feel so much better now.”

  He returned her smile with one of his own. “We had better call it a night. Thomas said it would probably be an early start tomorrow. Toby has given us the use of one of the huts for tonight. We’ll just go chase the vermin out, then retire for the night.”

  At Sarah’s shocked expression, he relented. “No, no...I was just teasing you. There are no vermin, I swear it. You will sleep safe and sound tonight.”

  “Not too soundly, I hope,” Sarah interrupted as she peered into the eyes of the man she loved.

  CHAPTER 8

  The runner returned to camp just after dawn the next morning. He rushed to Toby’s lean-to with instructions from the miracle-man. The four strangers were to be sent to him straight-away.

  Michael and Sarah were awakened when Pot-Face came running into their hut. When he saw Sarah was still in bed he promptly covered his face with his hands.

  “I’m sorry I came in here like this,” he said through the covering of his hands. “But Toby says you’ll be going now. So, you’ll have to get up now, ‘cause Toby says so.”