The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  “What did you expect to find there Raoul?” asked Belyn, who was also interested.

  “I thought there might have been some trace of the magic. I wanted to learn about it – it was the subtlest form of a focus I have ever encountered.” Belyn nodded in agreement. “I think however, that nothing could penetrate it – ever were we to dig through the rock, we would never find the entrance, as it was not truly in this world. My friends, I think we have just sampled the metaphorical wizard's ambrosia. We were lucky to have that much. There is no power on this earth that will let us see that again, so feel honoured that we had even a glimpse.” During this little discussion, Keldron had remained quiet. Only now did his two friends notice.

  “What is wrong, Kel?” asked Belyn.

  Keldron continued to stare into the heart of the fire. “I was just thinking about Lothan. He is going to be trapped in that tomb for a lifetime. I wouldn't wish that on any man.”

  “True, but that is what he wanted. You heard him, Kel, it was one of the highest honours that they had been awaiting for a generation. His family will be revered for it.”

  “It doesn't mean I have to like the thought, Belyn. Still, we should concern ourselves with this Tome. In all of my studies I have never heard of it. What about you, Raoul?”

  The gaunt man shook his head. “It's an enigma, to be sure. It sounds like something that may have the original law, or a reference to it, but I have read some obscure texts on the interpretation of the old Law during my studies and this was mentioned in none of them.”

  Belyn stared at the once open portal for a moment longer, and then turned. His robe rustled as he started to walk out. “I think we have as much chance of finding this tome as we do of opening this portal and rescuing Lothan. But we must try. As for now my friends, I am hungry. I am not a small man and I need sustenance to be able to think. We will worry about the solution to our little problem after some food.”

  As they neared the opening, they could see that the same throngs of people were gathered near as before. When they came within sight of them, the crowd quieted. An expectant air of silence came over the gathering. Keldron's eyes sought out Joleen. Her golden hair was easily visible near the front of the crowd. As usual, Yerdu stood beside her. As the three men stood gazing back at the crowd, it came to Keldron that Yerdu's patience had come to an end, as she started towards them, Joleen close behind. “Well, big man?” she asked with a pointed stare at Belyn. “What happened in there?”

  Belyn grinned. “We came across the most amazing focus…”

  Yerdu put her small hand to his mouth to stall his words. “No, you dolt. What happened to Lothan?”

  Still obviously thinking about the focus, Belyn related the tale of events to the closely gathered crowd. All seemed to lean in closer, as if they could not hear in the perfect acoustics of the bowl. The crowd cried in joy and loss, both for the tale of Grimrage, and for the fate of Lothan. Not a person left a tear unshed, for each knew that the reason for their staying there had come about. Keldron knew this much from what Lothan had told them, but to see the rapture mixed with anguish on the faces of these people was nearly too much for him.

  He held Joleen's hand as he seemed to do often, and he felt better for it. At the conclusion to the tale, a quiet murmuring came like a subtle hum from certain areas of the gathered crowd. Keldron could not make out what they were saying, but the air of excitement and anticipation was not hard to interpret. Keldron looked over at Joleen and she instantly read the unspoken question in his eyes.

  “They are excited because they do not know what to do next.”

  “What do you mean, don't know what to do next? I thought you would go home?”

  Joleen chuckled. “Silly. We have been here for generations. Even our elders have only the slightest clue as to where our people come from. We hardly have a clue as to where home really is.”

  Keldron squeezed her hand gently. “I am sorry, Joleen, truly I am. I had no idea this would result from us going in there. What will you do now?”

  Joleen looked out around the crowd. The murmurings were still obvious, but everybody was talking in a reverent hush, still basking in the glory of what had happened. “There are those who have always had ideas about what to do when this happens. There are always those who wish to lead our people home. They are the ones you have heard talking loudest.”

  As if a guttering mumble could be construed as loud, Keldron thought to himself in amusement. Joleen looked at him as if she shared his unspoken joke, and then continued. “Everybody can go where they wish, there are no holds on us now. There are mainly four groups it seems though. One lot want to go home. They know home is North somewhere, and they wish to look for it. The second have been told of a temple of the old Law by the skinny one, and wish to head in that direction. One group, the majority I think, want to stay here and keep the woods sacred. I would choose that if I had a choice.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you said everybody had a choice?”

  Joleen smiled as if she were always a step ahead of him. “Keldron, the minute I saw you I knew my destiny and yours lay along the same path. I am coming with you, as are Yerdu, and several of the others. The fourth group follows you.” Keldron certainly had not anticipated this, and the mere prospect of it left him quite staggered. “Are you all right?” asked Joleen, concern showing plainly in her gold-framed face.

  “Yes, I am okay. I had just thought that you would return en masse to wherever it was you had been away from for so long. I had never considered the possibility that we would leave here with some sort of gathering of our own. It's not like anything we are doing will matter to you. We have our goals, yes. But they are personal.”

  Joleen looked steadily at him for a moment. “You truly do not know what lies before you, do you?” Receiving a shake of the head Joleen continued. “We were told generations ago to expect three who would pass the test of dreams by awakening twice. That much you do know. We were also told about the nature of these three. One would be in search of magic. That would be Belyn. One would be the zealous servant of the law, in search of what lies beneath the words. That is Raoul. The third would be searching for truth and justice for a wronged people. That is you. You search for the killers; to right the wrong our people were accused of. That which could not be named before can now be spoken, as the Geas has been removed.”

  “The Tome of Law?” asked Keldron.

  “The Tome of Law,” replied Joleen. Before any could speak those words the Geas set upon us generations ago had to be removed. You coming here to us and entering the chamber enabled that. It is a fair bet that most of the murmuring that you heard when you finished your tale was people speaking those very words.”

  “So you know what it is, and where it can be found?”

  Joleen looked distant, as if she was trying to remember some ancient memory. “No. Nobody does. We barely know anything about it, little more than the name. It is connected in all of this though, and your arrival heralds the start of the search for it. That is why my people will split up – they think there is more chance of finding it that way. We do not know where to look, but you are travelling and we think there is a better chance of finding it with you than elsewhere.”

  “How many exactly is we?”

  Joleen pursed her lips as she looked around the crowd. “No more than a half dozen; just myself, Yerdu, and four of the tribesmen. In fact, some of them you know.”

  Three men approached, and Keldron recognised them as three of the men they passed as they were coming to this place. Each nodded a greeting and spoke in a language that was unusual, and yet hauntingly familiar. It was as if the very tones and nuances were bred from the trees themselves. At the obvious lack of comprehension Keldron exhibited, another voice spoke up, this one slow and measured. “This will be our gift for passage with you, he who searches for justice. We will teach you the living language of the forest, that it may aid you in your quest.”

  As Keldron turned to
see the speaker, Keldron realised who it was. The tall dark man was the leader of the group who had gone to protect the lake. Were it not for his dark hair and piercing eyes, this man would have looked ancient, so worn and taut was his face. But there was a kind of juvenility behind the look in those eyes, as if he had never truly grown up. He had a look about him that spoke of great wisdom, tempered by a soul as playful as a leaf in the wind. Keldron recognised the speech now; the forest had spoken to him the very same way as they were carried in slumber to its very heart. It was the language of peace and kindness, of care for all things living. It was as if the Old Law had been distilled and its very essence formed into something sentient that could be understood by others. “Who taught you this language?”

  The aged warrior spread his arms wide and looked about him. “The forest itself; mighty in its wisdom, bestowed upon us its very words. It recognised kindred spirits in us and taught us to protect it. Now the forest knows that you are a great hope for it, and us too. It wishes us to teach you of its language, that you may be aided when all seems lost. The words of the forest are mighty, and those who hearken unto its words will be affected forever.”

  “Sounds frightening,” Keldron replied, uncertain of what the warrior had said. It seemed as if there were drawbacks to learning this language, but nobody around him seemed worse off for knowing it.

  “The worst is over,” answered Joleen with a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “You began to learn the language when you first entered the forest, even as far back as your chat with the ferryman.”

  That brought a vivid memory back to Keldron, and an important lesson; never judge books by their covers. They had mistaken the man for something he was not, while he had seen straight through them. “Who was he?”

  Yerdu shrugged. “He was, and always shall be Greenbough. He has always been here for us, and has been a great ally in protecting the forest.”

  “That was not the name he gave us when we met him.”

  “The name he gave you is immaterial, Keldron, the Hunter of Justice. We all give each other many names. But for him, he will always be Greenbough. Great woe will come to those who cross the path of his wrath.”

  Seeing Raoul and Belyn's attention had wandered to the immediate group from the others they had been talking to, Keldron thought it prudent to be sure of what they were doing. “Are there any opinions on which way we should head?

  “I was thinking of the same direction as those in search of the temple we seek.” Raoul spoke without looking up, as he was half thinking about something.

  “But those who go that way from here propose to go cross land to the north and west. Surely it would be quicker to take the river and cross around the coast by boat.”

  “I think we should cross the mountains and go South.” Evidently, Belyn had decided their course, and looked pretty set on it. Getting quizzical looks from all but his two companions he pressed on with his idea. “There are reasons we should not show our faces anywhere near Eskenberg. Travelling down the river would only increase the chances of us being seen and waste all we have already travelled for.” To the tribes people he continued, “When we left our Guild, we set off a focus that cancelled magic over a wide area. Nobody who could focus to any degree was able to do so for days. The result was that nobody could magically detect our leaving.”

  “You have enemies?” one of the three asked of Belyn.

  “I'm afraid we do. There are those who didn't appreciate our viewpoint whilst we belonged to the order, and they would be pleased to see us suffer in any way possible. They would have surely found you, and us, had we not cast that focus. But I have studied the land for a great while, and know of the land to the South and West. The great peninsula is barren enough for us to pass undetected, but populated enough that should we need to find solace in a town or city, we can do so without great difficulty. There is a pass in the nearby mountain range that we can use to cross.”

  “The pass of the fallen,” said Joleen in a hushed voice, full of reverence. “It lies beyond the town of Falimar, way up in the mountains. I have long wished that I might see it.”

  “You wish to see such a place of slaughter?” said Raoul. The revulsion in his voice was plain. “That was where an entire army was massacred. They threw themselves at the defences for weeks until there was but a handful of men left. They were then captured and the Gods only know what was done to them. I heard the witch finder got his hands on them.”

  “The who?” asked Belyn.

  Raoul sighed as he so often did when preparing to lecture those he felt in need of his particular brand of direction. Clasping his hands together he set himself for one of his lectures. “The witch finder, dear Belyn, is an old man who apparently lives in a city far to the North of here, and apparently commands an army of thousands of zealots. They live in this city, holed up waiting for Jettiba knows what, training and strengthening their forces. Most I know about this man is rumour, but one rumour I have heard more frequently than others is that he was present at the battle of Falimar, a long time ago, and that he is one of the most adept practitioners of focussing that has ever been seen in this land. It has been said he can bend the very will of man using a rock as small as your thumb. But forget about the rumours, my friends. We are not headed in that direction. Many leagues lie between us and any threat from the pot of jealousy that exists up in those mountains.”

  Keldron managed to suppress a laugh, but without much success. “Raoul, my friend you must have the biggest collection of useless information stored within that head of yours. But you have a point. Places like that are dangerous and we will have to keep our wits about us if we are thinking of travelling there.”

  Once they had decided where they were headed, it fell to Raoul to sort out provisions and such. For once he didn't moan about such a task. It was evident that they were going to need horses, but a general decision was made to give the cart and draft team to those more in need – eventually, even the tribes people got old and weak, not that they would ever admit it. Fortunately, horses were in good supply, and of a quality that showed they were not going to tire easily. Food was also plentiful and the horses could carry much.

  The major problem was Belyn. He steadfastly refused to give up all the possessions he had brought with him, arguing that a perfectly good focus would not be wasted on all his possessions for them to be lost. In the end he had to settle for hiding a lot of them in a cave, hidden by another of his focuses. The tribes people marvelled as his goods vanished into the wall, much as they had at Raoul's litany on the Old Law. Belyn grumbled the entire time, but he accepted defeat with a small amount of satisfaction; he had managed to get nearly all of his focus stone collection into his pack, and the warehouse was still being replenished.

  During this period Keldron was amazed to learn that while maybe a couple of hours had passed for them in the cave, more than a week had passed in the outside world. It made the reason for the lack of people in the cave apparent. After they had waited for a while at the mouth, the tribe had resumed their daily life, awaiting a sign from Joleen or Yerdu. It was yet another facet of Keldron's belief that the cave was not actually behind the wall, but somewhere else entirely. He was determined to do what he could to free Lothan though. He was always one to appreciate solace. His perch in the roof of the guild was ideal when he wanted to be alone. The self-imposed exile of Lothan was more than he could bear though. No one person should be as utterly alone as he had become.

  It was during their preparation for the journey ahead that Keldron noticed something different about the bowl of people. A steady stream of tribes people was coming out through a cleft in the bottom of the cliff. Keldron swore he had never noticed that before. “Joleen, where does that path lead to?” he asked, curious as ever.

  Her face went pale, and she intoned quietly, “That is the path from the pits of the dead, where lost souls wail in anguish.”

  “Really?”

  Joleen broke into a grin. “No. That's th
e rest of the tribe, returned from trading. What city folk believe to be the heart of the forest, where the 'Merdonese' as we are so falsely called, trade, is actually an outpost of this bowl, surrounded by a great focus of protection. We take turns to trade things there, and it gives the impression that we are nomadic, as the same people are rarely remembered by the merchants.”

  “Did you ever worry about them finding their way down here?”

  Joleen winked slyly. “Did you ever for a second believe that the enchantment is just by the lake?”

  Keldron realised that he had not thought of that. Seeing his obvious lack of an answer, Joleen laughed her golden peal of amusement, and Keldron was forced to join in. “Even were they to get past our tribesmen up there, the enchantment would strike them blind. They could never survive then. The track is so steep and perilous that it would be impossible to navigate.”

  “Could we go there? I would surely love to see the top of the cliff.”

  Joleen thought about the request. “I don't see why not. The tribe is not going to be leaving for some time, as many are still arguing the best course of action. I will make sure the others know where we are going.”

  As Joleen wandered to some of the nearby tribes people, Keldron assessed the climb. The track was only visible now that he was so close. A mesh of zigzags crossed the steep incline of the cliffs, sometimes disappearing way above his head. Old enough to be called middle-aged by normal standards, he retained the energy of youth due to the focussing. It had been written that by using the marble eggs, one's life could be prolonged. That was certainly true in the case of many of the dour old men who had made his life a misery. Their sole purpose in life was to wake up, perform the focus to elongate the paper-thin existence that was their lives, and spend the rest of the day making their inferiors as miserable as possible. Keldron had sworn that he would never end up like that, and by doing this he was just reaffirming that promise to himself.

  Gazing at the people who came down, he found himself nodding a greeting at many of them, or exchanging a word or two. It suddenly dawned on him that he had never met any of the people before, yet they treated him as if he were a friend who they had seen only the day before. One pretty young woman stopped for more than a couple of words. Keldron was taken by her attractive round face, surrounded by the trademark dark hair, until she hurried off. He followed her with his eyes to see the unique head of gold coming towards him. “Making friends?” Joleen asked, one eyebrow slightly raised.