The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  Tarim and Zya would roam around on their horses, and Cahal and Jaden would take it in turns riding point and rearguard. The self-sufficient community was completed by the presence of Layric's three hounds. They were big, with red/brown long hair. They might look docile enough riding along in the back of a wagon, but if on guard they were more than a match for many a sneak thief. Cahal especially enjoyed the presence of the hounds, as they shared a common interest – keeping the caravan safe.

  The morning had a profound effect upon all in the caravan. Instead of the usual banter and conversation, all were silent. Only the calls of birds and the sprinkling rush of the stream accompanied the creak of the wagons and the noises made by the horses. The morning was too special to waste with idle talk. As the morning wore on and the sun made the day grow warmer, Erilee and Mavra tired of riding double on the stallions. Pleading the need to freshen up, they retired to their parents' wagon, though it did not take long for them to appear alongside Gren in the cook's wagon. Gren was a gnarled old man, with fingers knotted by the stiffening disease, and a face that looked like it could be too. However, his disposition reflected the morning. He was a light-hearted man by nature and his small tales were often a source of distraction for the girls. Dressed in their finest blouses of pristine white and their brown traveller's skirts, they looked appealing to a younger man, Gren reasoned. But they were only after one thing with him.

  “Gren” Mavra asked slowly, lowering her eyelids in his direction, “Would you tell us a tale, one to pass the time while we travel?”

  Gren pretended not to notice, concentrating on the wagon horse. In truth, the horses were all well trained and would follow the lead wagon, but the girls' inexperience with the horses meant they did not know this.

  “Please Gren,” Erilee tried in her most wheedling voice.

  Gren chuckled. Erilee was trying her best to appear demure and attractive to an old man, her long golden hair neatly arranged over one shoulder. He hoped that they would not ask for a story from a stranger in such a fashion when in one of the villages. Without looking at them, Gren replied, “You know I save the stories for the cook fires only. It would not be fair to let others miss out.”

  Gren, it seemed was not above a bit of dramatic license himself. If the girls could use underhanded tactics to try and wheedle a story out of him then he would fight his battles with logic and guilt. At least until they asked properly.

  “Please?” Both girls said at once, so exaggerating the mouthing of the word that they appeared to have grins frozen on their young faces. To their relief Gren smiled his knobbly old smile and replied, “How could even an old man like me not be persuaded by two jewels in a sea of green,” indicating the lush meadows all around. “But you have to promise me one thing. No interruptions.”

  Both girls nodded eagerly. It was as easy to forget they were almost women, as it was to notice they were when they were like this. Gren gazed thoughtfully at the scenery. The slate grey distant mountains were covered in a blue miasma from the trees, almost merging with the picture of glory that was the morning sky. The golden sphere above it radiated life, and the countryside responded in kind.

  “I will tell you the tale of the first morning of the world, as it seems fitting for such a perfect time and place as this.” The girls leaned forward eagerly; this was indeed a rare tale.

  “The fable of the dawn of the world has been passed down from father to son, mother to daughter. It has outlived any other tale known to the travellers, and its origins are lost in the depths of the past. Our world as we know it started as an idea in the eyes of the gods. The gods were mythical beings; living outside of what we know as time, they saw this process as a continual one. They were interested in creating a place of such beauty, such harmony, that anything that set foot on it would instantly be at peace.

  “The gods were in awe of such an idea, and each used their abilities to the fullest extent in order to make the idea become reality. Now, contrary to what many believe, the earth wasn't formed quickly, but over seasons uncounted. Each god and goddess came and went, according to his or her whims. But while they were present, such miracles happened as would never be seen today. The goddess Ilia was the first to make the idea become reality, but she was not alone. Known to us as the goddess of the land, Ilia was joined by Matsandrau the Sun Lord. Together they manipulated a dark cold ball of rock that was floating in the heavens. Ilia shaped the surface of this rock, forming great basins that rent it in two and ridges that bound it together again. The Sun Lord provided light during this as the moulding of the surface took great effort and detail, none of which could be done in the darkness of the heavens.

  “Through their time together, Ilia and Matsandrau became irrefutably linked – the earth we walk on today their offspring. The Sun Lord gave the life of a dying sun to the lifeless husk, thus renewing the suns life, and allowing it to grow, to become more than it was. The heart of the earth began to beat steadily as he fed the life force of the sun into it, and the potential became greater as it steadied and started to create its own features. The two creators called out to their brethren and entreated them to come and see what had been made.

  “For a long time, no one came and the two gods watched as their child grew and evolved. Old crusts of skin would be sucked under to be returned as fresh surface on other parts of the rock. By the time a sign came that a presence was drawing near, Matsandrau had retired into a new sun. This sun was fresh, and would provide light for their work for time unending. Ilia still walked the surface, alone in her thoughts. Where once she had seen ugly naked rock, now she saw structures of such beauty so subtle that no one else could see them. They existed on the surface, and beneath it all the way down to the steadily pulsing heart. The presence that drew near was of two beings. Panishwa the fluid god altered his state at will, becoming any being he imagined. All were equal and beautiful in his eyes. His companion was the white robed Ondulyn. Together they added their very essence to the young creation. Panishwa looked upon the deep troughs on the surface, and filled them with water, so that the creation would have an even surface. Ondulyn called the lifeless husk of a rock much smaller and set it in motion around the glistening globe. Her gift to the crystalline sphere was dramatic. The four gods stood and watched for what would seem forever in our time and observed as the water shifted in response to the rock in the heavens. The shifting was small in response to the pull of the astral body, but size was unimportant. All was equal in the eyes of the four beings that stood there. The unnoticeable movement of the water was as much a splendour as the basins and ridges, or the liquid heart.”

  Gren paused to take a sip of water from a flask handed to him by Mavra. She was probably not even aware she did that; the look on her face showed rapt attention.

  “Where was I?” Gren mused. “Ah yes, the significance of all things regardless of their size. The gods did not look upon what a thing was or did and judge it thus. They saw all things as beauty and all with their place. Ondulyn had a further gift. She used the white in her robes to brighten the rock, and called it the moon. It accompanied the young body by night when the gift of the sun Lord was not present. Hence the name, Moon Goddess given to Ondulyn. Anyway, the gods and goddesses were content with their creation, but it was the appearance of the god of mind and elements, Yogingi, who saw the direction to take the creation yet. She added a layer that started on the surface of the ground, and reached beyond the highest peaks. The layer could not be seen by anyone except Yogingi, and it contained ribbons of air so fine that they twisted and swirled like strands of hair on a breezy day. Yet combined the strands moved across the surface with a gentle touch but with a great power behind them. They affected everything on the surface. From the overbalancing of rock causing a slide to the gentle rippling motion across the surface of water that so pleased the gods. The gift of Yogingi was not to be seen, but could be felt everywhere. Thus did the gods believe their creation to be complete.

  “The best was saved fo
r last though. The gods gazed upon their young world, pleasuring in the complexity of its existence. They observed the surface changing over time beyond measure and everything gave them pleasure. It was the eventual arrival of Jettiba the minstrel, who would be come to be known as the god of life that changed things for the gods. Jettiba counselled the present gods, and suggested that for the world to truly be alive, it needed to be able to support life. The gods marvelled at their idea, and allowed Jettiba to go about his work.

  “He started subtly, creating the simplest of beings, creatures so small you would not even notice. For Jettiba said that in order for larger life to exist, the smallest beings must exist first. He eventually created plants; grasses for the plains, trees for the woods, but all small at first. As seasons passed, the plants grew in size and diversity, coming to cover most of the surface of the land. The other gods were pleased that their creation could support so much, and asked Jettiba for more. His next creations were created to depend on the fruit of the world, so he called the plants and their offspring. He placed animals on the land and in the oceans. The water animals were formed differently, so they could remain in the oceans forever. But in doing this Jettiba asked them to forgo ever coming ashore. The creatures freely agreed to this, knowing that such an experience could only be for the good. The creatures he placed on the land could enter the water, but only for a limited time. Some could fly, but also not forever. In doing this he made the creatures unique, but all had their advantages, and all their limits.

  “If the gods had been pleased before, they were ecstatic now. They wandered freely over the surface and beneath in some cases, often adding a touch, but never without consulting the others. They watched as the creatures adapted to the land, some moving to the mountains, some staying in the lowlands. Some water animals were content to swim in rivers; others stayed in deep water. Thus was the uniqueness of each creature that it adapted to its' surroundings and made its place on the world. The final talk of the gods was to create a different being. Jettiba had noticed that the creatures they had created would make use of what was around them but never any more. Yogingi had observed them reacting to the changes in her flows of air, but nothing more. The gods decided to create a creature with a purpose. The purpose of the creature would be to adapt the surrounding land to itself, to take the evolution of their 'child' one step further. They decided they would impart the knowledge of how to adapt to this creature; knowledge that would allow it to survive. Therefore at a time when Matsandrau's orb was rising in the sky, and in a place where Yogingi's flows of air were quiet and the crystal azure of the heavens could be seen the gods created man.

  “They only created a few at first, but they had seen other populations grow and knew a few was enough. As the creatures known as 'man' were aware at the moment of their birth, they beheld the gods in their true forms, beings of spirit shaped similar to themselves. 'Man' approached the Gods and asked about its purpose. The Gods explained all they needed to know. Why they should hunt, why they should gather and why they should adapt. After man's questions had been answered, the gods decided to withdraw unto their chosen places and observe from afar, so that man would have no advantage over the other creatures. In an instant, Matsandrau withdrew into his fiery orb and Ondulyn to her sphere of purest white. Ilia withdrew into a mountain, and Phanishwa into the seas. Yogingi and Jettiba decided to still observe the world, but became invisible. Jettiba walked the surface, while Yogingi became one with the flows of air across the surface. Man was devastated at the sudden loss of its creators, but took heart at the perfection around. They mourned at every rise of The Sun God' s legacy, and the time between dark and the time of the orb hanging in the middle of the sky became known as 'Mourning'. But the day when man saw the Gods became known as the 'Perfect Mourning' because of the bitter-sweet events that happened.”

  Gren looked up from his tale. He couldn't have imagined such different effects. Mavra was sat staring forward, images of the story written plain on her face. Enraptured for having glimpsed the gods, and yet sorrowful for the loss of them. Erilee was leaning against her shoulder asleep, trestles of her hair hanging across her face damp with sweat from the rapidly heating morning. The effect around his wagon was astounding to him though. All was quiet; the other wagons having stopped. Tarim, Zya and the guards had closed to a respectable distance, but one within range of hearing. They all looked at him with the profound respect for such a teller of stories.

  “Truly we are blessed, for your calling was definitely not to be a cook. Where did you hear such a story?” Asked Venla.

  Gren frowned, trying to remember. “I think it was my mother, a long time ago. She used to gather tales from anyone who would tell them and she would make me learn. I did not mind of course, being young I enjoyed good tale.” Gren sighed. “She did not have much to give me, but she always said if I could pass on knowledge to others then her tales were well learnt. That one always stands out in my mind though, as she said the man who told it to her seemed ancient beyond seasons, with strange markings but I cannot say what as there is a limit to even my memory.”

  “Even in that there is something to be learnt,” observed Layric. “Even a wise man can only know so much all of the time. He can never know everything.”

  “You always see too much into things my husband,” replied Venla, shaking her head. “Just take the story for what it is – a story – and leave the thinking up to the women.”

  “Yes, oh wondrous mistress” Layric mockingly replied with a bow as low as he could muster. “We live but to serve and obey you and you alone.”

  Looking up at the sun, which was a pulsating mass of white gold, now that it had risen into the mid-morning sky, Layric stared off down the track they had been following.

  “We should get moving again. The villages are not getting any closer with us resting here, and we need to make a decent distance before we stop for the midday meal.” With that Layric returned to his wagon and ushered the draft horse in to a semblance of movement. The caravan slowly started to move again, and Zya remained mounted next to her father.

  “I always loved hearing his fables. He tells them so well you could almost believe they were true.” Tarim grunted.

  “What's got into your head father?” Zya asked. Her father was usually open and joyous; in fact he had been all morning.

  “It's just a tale – a very well told tale but a tale nonetheless.” Tarim said this with such vehemence that Zya did not know what to make of it, so she just trotted her horse alongside her father's, keeping silent while her father sorted out his issues with himself. In truth, although her father's change of mood had startled her somewhat, she accepted that people had reasons for everything, and worried no more about it.

  The morning had developed as Zya had wished. It was a glorious day, the sky bright blue, and the early morning breeze had become a delicious counterpoint to the heat as the day wore on. The caravan made its way slowly down the side of the unnamed river. It was the way of the travellers to follow the route in front of them. There was no rush, and for this Zya was glad. It meant that she could explore the surrounding countryside while the caravan plodded West and North towards the nearest village. The blue miasma on the distant mountains had coalesced into a shimmering haze as the heat built. At times it looked as if they were floating on air, images of the mind's tricks convincing the eye. Zya wished their brief sojourn in to the mountains could have been longer. The two weeks they had spent in crossing the area surrounding the higher pass, unused by most people, were uneventful. The mountains were peaceful though, and brought a serene kind of peace to Zya and her companions. It felt as if she could almost touch the sky if she tried. Still, it was pleasant enough in the foothills.

  Digging her heels in to the flanks of Red, her stallion, she spurred him towards a nearby hill. Jaden followed, eager for a look at the surrounding land. The view was breathtaking. The typical rockiness of foothills contrasted with the subtle creep of the vegetation. Rolling hill
s covered with grass and shrub dipped down into valleys with low trees. The ground was ill suited for major plant growth, but it did not fail to dazzle the eye. Zya looked Westward, where a deep swath of inky green appeared to cut across the horizon.

  “Jaden, do you know what that is, the green on the horizon?” She pointed to where the deep green met the azure sky.

  “That, my dears is the Boarwood. Wild boar make the forest their own kingdom. They are shy creatures, and you will rarely see one, but back one into a corner, or come across a male in search of a mate, and they are more than a match for most men.”

  “We will pass that way will we not?” Zya asked hesitantly, eyeing the distant green. “I mean I am not afraid of any creature, but I would like to be sure of where I am going.”

  “Young Lady, you would do well to be afraid.” The stone-faced Jaden looked straight at her. “Cahal and myself have gone through life afraid. Taking precautions is the best thing you can do. We pride ourselves on being ready for anything; else we would have not lasted long as guardsmen. The only reason I am up here now is because there is no –”

  “JADEN!” screamed Zya, clutching at her saddle. Jaden looked down to the caravan, and then spurred his horse into a furious gallop. Zya began to follow then reined her horse in – there was little she could do. Two figures had emerged as if from nowhere and were assaulting the last wagon in the caravan. Jani was struggling with one figure while his wife was screaming at the top of her voice. The other figure was in the process of being pulled off the wagon by Cahal, when Zya glimpsed the flash of sunlight on metal from something held by one of the figures. Without knowing why, she urged her horse into gallop behind the distant Jaden, screaming something unintelligible at the top of her voice. The wind rushed through her hair, sending it streaming out behind her like a dark standard on a flagpole. The freedom she felt and the rush that accompanied the dead run of her horse was in stark contrast for the fear she felt for her companions. As she began to near, Jaden and Cahal had one figure trapped. Fighting with a nasty looking sword, the man could not best the two experienced guards. As the figure lunged at Jaden, Cahal stepped in and neatly clubbed the figure round the back of the head with the hilt of his broadsword, resulting in the man dropping like a stone.