Tarim knew he was right, and nodded in agreement. “Haste can be a virtue, but only when tempered with wisdom.”
“Good one,” agreed Layric, “I like that.”
The two men continued to swap their respective snippets of wisdom throughout the afternoon, occasionally joined by Gren, who had left his wagon with the nearly capable Mavra. He added various cooks' lore and adages of stories Tarim had yet to hear. Thus began a game that eventually became a tradition amongst travellers.
Later that afternoon, Zya came riding slowly back towards them. Gren made his excuses and hopped off Layric's wagon to go back to his own. As she drew closer, Tarim noticed that his daughter looked considerably brighter than when she had left. “You feeling any better, my daughter?”
“What's the point stressing about something I cannot control, father?” Zya replied, surprising both Tarim and Layric. “I once read a book that said 'Haste can be a virtue, but only when tempered with wisdom.' ”
“Did you now?” Layric replied in a tone that implied a lot more than the words meant.
“Yes, certainly. It was a book I gave my father a few seasons back with adages and quotes in it.” From the guilty look her father had on his face, and the amusement dancing over the face of Layric, Zya knew exactly what they had been discussing. Cautiously, she added “Or should I have kept that last bit between us, father?”
Tarim raised his hands in mock exasperation. “Oh it's all out now! I can never keep a thought to myself any more. Layric, if you want to exchange words of wisdom with someone, try Zya. She knows that book from cover to cover, and can invent new lines at will.”
This brought the first smile from Zya that any of them had seen in days. “Father, where is Ju?”
Tarim peered over his shoulder. “A couple of wagons back. He was talking arrows with Jaden last time I saw him.”
Seeing Cahal out front, Zya excused herself and rode to the rear of the caravan. Waving to Gwyn and Jani as they manned their wagons, she came upon a surly looking Mavra. “What ever is the matter?” Zya asked of the young woman who was as near to a sister as she could manage.
Mavra pouted. “Gren is the matter. He let me drive the horse for a while, and then went off up front. I don't mind doing it for a bit, but then he came back and before I could move he was off again, shouting about gathering herbs in the meadows. You don't want to drive the horse do you, Zya?” Mavra asked slyly. Too used to getting her way, Mavra tried to wheedle anyone.
Matters had not been made any easier by the abduction of Erilee, but Zya saw through her plot instantly. She countered with another offer. “Certainly, anything for you, you know that.” As Mavra's eyes brightened at the prospect of less work, Zya added, “Of course that means you will have to take care of Red.”
Mavra eyed the stallion nervously. Red for his part flicked his ears with feigned disinterest, not helping Mavra's decision at all. To drive the point home, Zya continued. “He needs a good brush, and he has managed to pick up a stone in his shoe.” Leaning forward, she looked down at the ground, urging Red to trot off balance, which he obligingly did. “Of course, he will need a good feed too, he likes to eat out of your hand. Up to it?”
Mavra by now had obviously considered her choice well, for she leaned back in the seat looking like wild horses couldn't drag her away. “Umm… I think I will stay here after all. The view is perfect and it would be a dreadful shame to miss it.” Zya grinned at Mavra's obvious lack of an excuse – they were on the gentlest of slopes, and the view was the same for leagues around. “Where did you say Gren went?”
Mavra pointed off into the meadow. “Thataway. He took Juatin with him too.” Zya looked off in the direction Mavra pointed, and could see two tiny figures off in the distance. With that she hopped down off of Red, patted him on the nose and cautioned him to behave .She then tied the reins to the side of Gren's wagon.
As she strolled off in the direction of the distant pair, Mavra called out, “Where are you going? Why are you not taking your horse?”
“You will be fine.” Zya shouted over her shoulder. “He likes you and I won't be too long.” Zya grinned even more as she heard distant curses about bad luck and being stuck on a wagon. She was amazed Mavra knew any of the language that left her mouth.
Zya noticed Jaden watching as she headed off into the meadow, and waved. He waved back, adding a signal that meant 'be careful', with a flick of his wrists. Zya had learnt the signals used between the two guards at a young age, and had picked it up very quickly. They were both impressed when she devised new signals and had been as quick to learn in return. She breathed in the late summer air deeply as she wandered towards Gren and Ju. The pale yellow grass, parched from lack of moisture, mingled with the red and purple wild-flowers. All swayed in the gentle breeze, causing a rippling effect across the land.
Looking back at the caravan, Zya felt as though she could feel the contentment emanating from all those within, except for the sullen Mavra, who she was sure was still muttering. Reaching Gren and Ju, Zya found them deep in conversation together. The subject of their conversation was a weedy little plant with a bright yellow flower. Draped across Gren's knee, the flower had quickly wilted in the late summer heat. Without missing a beat, Gren sought to include Zya in the conversation. “Zya girl, come sit and tell us what you know about the wild Lacnun.”
Zya recognised the flower as soon as Gren had mentioned it; it was a favourite of his, though she doubted Ju knew that. “You can make a tea from it; mixed with other flowers, it can even taste quite nice.” Zya knew that comment would rib Gren somewhat.
“Bah,” he grunted. “Boy, this flower has many uses. It is not just a tea, but one that will help you sleep at night. Remember that when you are anxious. Steep some of the flowers in hot water for a while, and then drink it all down. It might not taste great, but it does wonders for the body. Here, rub the leaves between your fingers and smell them.” Ju did as he was told, and Zya did the same. She remembered this lesson well, breathing deeply as she released the earthy sweet smell of the plant.
“That's nice,” Ju commented as he sniffed at his fingers.
Gren nodded, his gnarled head moving like a gargoyle come to life. “Remember this boy, not all plants are as good for you as this, despite their smell. You remember the red berries from back in your town? They were from a plant that is as deadly as any in the land. The fool that ordered them planted should be hung from a yardarm for that.”
As Gren mumbled on about the misgivings of O'Bellah, Zya took a moment to look around her. They were in a depression of sorts, with a small pool nestled amongst a series of rocks. It was not obvious this place was here, yet it had been found all the same. “How did you find this depression?” Zya asked of the old cook.
“Gren looked up in the sky and saw birds, my little petal. They were diving and bombing and I figured they must have been catching insects. Where there's such a place there's usually something worth looking for. You just have to follow the signs is all. But back to the reason we came here. Growing around these rocks, you will see a crawling plant with tiny leaves. I want you both to gently pull some of the plant up, making sure you have got the soil it has rooted in.” Zya went to the rocks on the furthest point of the pool and found the plant. The leaves were minuscule, but she knew it to be thyme, one of Gren's favourite cooking herbs.
“Why do we want the soil, will the leaves not do by themselves?” asked Ju in his state of innocence.
“Boy, what do we do if we run out of the herb?”
“That's easy, we pick some more,” he answered, confident that he knew the right answer.
Gren leaned back against a rock. “Okay, what do we do if there is no more to pick, if this is the only place in the world it exists?”
“We come back for more,” Ju said through a confident grin.
“All well and good. Now suppose after picking this we want some more when we have travelled to the other side of the world. Are we going to come back a
nd get it?” As his mind worked, comprehension dawned upon Ju and he flushed with embarrassment. Zya hid her smile, turning away so Ju wouldn't see, but Gren laughed uproariously, pounding the soft ground in glee.
“Ju took it rather well on the whole,” Gren said around the cook fire that night. “He looked at me, plain as day, and said 'These plants aren't going to grow with nothing for them to grow in, do you think we could maybe go back?' ” This brought a chortle from everybody around the fire. Ju's flushed face was not obvious in the dark, but it mattered not. The whole caravan had taken to Ju like a long lost son. Maybe they had transferred their loss of Erilee into a positive emotion for Ju's sake, but Zya knew by the look in their faces that everyone still felt the loss deeply.
As they broke up into various small groups full of chatter, Anita leaned in closer to Zya. “So how have you been feeling recently, my dear. Have you had any more experiences?” By experiences, Anita meant being able to track emotions and sense things before they happened, much like before Hoebridge.
“I can sense that everyone here shares the same sense of loss over Erilee. I know that they all love Ju as a son. The thing is, Anita, I still do not know why I know that.”
Anita paused for a moment, her pretty face thoughtful in the light of the flickering fire. “Have you tried it at a distance?”
“When I went to find Gren and Ju earlier today, the feelings spoke out to me when I so much as looked at the caravan. I also know that something bad is coming from the same direction we have been travelling and that it is linked to the man we sought to elude.” Zya looked off in the direction of the boar wood, a mere darkening of the horizon in full daylight. The sense of spreading wrong was menacing, and seemed to be stabbing straight towards her. “I know I need patience, Anita, but I also know Erilee does not lie in this direction. I have sworn to follow where the caravan leads, but I know the futility of it.”
“Has anybody told you of the different orders, and how they serve our people?” Zya thought back through all she had been taught. There may have been some dim recollection. “Not really, why? What do they do?”
“The orders are distantly related to the Gods,” Anita replied. “They have each taken a facet of one of the Gods' personalities, and they strive to attain a likeness, serving mankind in their own way.”
Intrigued, Zya had a sudden yearning to learn more of these orders. “How many are there?”
“I do not know – no-one knows for sure. There are some who take an active role in the lives of people, such as the Order of Law, but there are also those who seek to look after the plants and animals – the Order of the Earth.”
“And… they are related to the Gods?” Zya asked sceptically.
“It is said so. The order of the Earth is closely affiliated to Jettiba; following what they believe to be Jettiba's love of all living. The order of the moon, on the other hand, worships the night and all that it entails, in honour of the moon spirit. They believe she rises at night, and there her power is strongest. Do not ever mistake their nightly rituals for dark practices though, Zya. Ondulyn was as bright and pure as any of the Gods, and those who call themselves her disciples work for the good of all.”
This set Zya to considering things about her life she had never previously thought possible. Maybe she could do something else. “And you think I should join one of these orders?”
Anita put her hand fondly on Zya's own. “My dear, I am merely opening your eyes to a different way of living. It takes a lot to become one of any of these orders. But you have something most do not, isn't that so?”
“I guess.”
“Zya, you are able to feel emotions from a great distance. You have something inside of you that warns of danger. These traits make you much more in tune with the land than many people could ever be.” Zya knew exactly what Anita meant. From her early years she had been able to sense feelings around her, though to a much lesser extent than she could today. Everybody had seen the way she had behaved on her way out of the mountains, and they had all heard her warn about the pair they caught as a result. Not many knew of her feelings about O'Bellah, but Anita had guessed correctly. The only thing she did not know about was the incident in the yard of the Inn.
“So, you think I should join the order of an earth related group?”
“Zya, I believe you should choose your own way. I am merely suggesting that you think about it. Of course, you seem to be one for fitting in with such an order. The earth orders follow a similar path to us, as does the Order of Law.”
“Law? Forgive me for asking such a stupid sounding question, but what do they do?”
“The Order of Law try to regulate the goings on in cities by prescribing a set of rules to follow – rules of decency. Many of them derive from the Old Law, the one we follow. In fact, many of the ordermen still follow the same path we do.” Anita sighed. “Some have been corrupted by greed and have become as bad as merchants, but there are still those who maintain the old Law. They are rare, but they are the best.”
Anita looked down. Zya had her dagger on her lap, and was playing with the hilt, slowly unhooking and hooking the dagger in its sheathe. Zya looked down, wondering what the matter was, and realised what she was doing. Putting the dagger quickly back on her belt, she looked back up at Anita, whose face was a mystery.
“That is the one thing, child. They will not admit anyone with a weapon, of any sort. If you chose to follow that path, you will have to become detached from that dagger.” Anita excused herself, rising swiftly and disappearing into the gloom with barely a whisper. It left Zya on her own to reflect on what she had just been told. She had never thought that the feelings she had about things could lead her to such an institution as had been described to her. She had a vivid imagination, and the picture of herself, dressed in robes of deepest red, wielding a wizard's staff upon some barren hill, came into her mind.
Trying to make sense of it all was too much, so Zya left the fire to its merry dance and walked into the dark, where she knew good advice would be waiting. The horses stirred as she walked close to them, Aroham nickering gently, and Red snorting a greeting and tossing his mane. They were at the outer edge of the camp. She walked around them to cause as little fuss as possible, and found who she was looking for. The shape of Cahal materialised in the night; the grizzled old guard nodding a barely perceptible greeting. “So, what brings you out here young lady? Surely you would be safer in the camp with the others.” Cahal got an elbow in the ribs for his comments, nearly doubling him over. When he regained his breath, he chuckled quietly. “Point taken. It's true you can handle yourself as well as anybody in this camp, better than most. So what troubles you?”
Zya stared into the nothingness that was the dark, with absolutely no light from any town reaching this far. “I have just been wondering what lies in store for me in the future. I see myself beyond this situation, but as what I do not know.”
“That's a lot of deep thinking, girl,” replied Cahal. “What is there that you do not already have here?”
“I don't know,” Zya murmured, more to herself than to Cahal. “Here, I have comfort, hard work, people who teach me everything I need to know. But is that enough?”
Cahal rested his hand upon the pommel of his sword, loosened in its scabbard, as always. “Girl, different people need different things in their lives. For me, I am happy with a warm meal and a place to rest at the end of every day. Not all people can boast such simple luxuries. When I was young, this would have been bliss for me.”
Zya had rarely heard Cahal talk about his experiences before; he usually kept quiet, content to do his job as he saw fit.
“When I first became lured into the service of fat merchants, by the promise of a decent day's pay for carrying a sword, I would most likely find myself wrapped up in my own cloak with snow for company. The roads were tough, and the bandits tougher. I can honestly say that most mountain paths I have crossed have a tale to tell of their own, but those who sought to ro
b often felt the cold a lot worse than we did. They would come swarming around some corner in rags, with the rustiest weapons you have ever laid eyes on. They were no match for us of course, but they came on anyway, driven by desperation and the need for something better. Unfortunately for them, they would run into us, and more often than not, end up with something much worse.”
Zya cringed at the thought of such cold-blooded slaughter. “Did it bother you that you had to do this?”
“That's what being a mercenary is about. It's not a pretty job, nor a safe one. But it does pay well. Mind you, don't base your judgement on my advice. When I first started out, some cocky mercenary tried to take me under his wing. He had some pretty strange ideas. His repeated advice to me was 'Once you strike the killing blow, turn away. Do anything but see death creep over them'. Last I heard of him, he was begging the streets of Ulecio after some half-dead wretch had managed an ounce more strength than he gave them credit for and sliced one of his arms just below the elbow. It was at least a week before they could find anyone to heal him, and by that time the arm was useless. With that case in point, I would have you remember this girl: always finish what you mean to start. If you are not prepared to deal with the consequences, never travel down that road. Now get you back to camp so I have one less thing to concern myself about.”
Zya thanked Cahal, and wandered in the general direction of the camp, following the dimly lit track. A flicker in front of her eyes caused her to pause, but it was only a night-fly after a tasty snack. Brushing it off she continued. The talks she had had with Anita and Cahal had confirmed what she had known for a long time. Zya had been brought up well, but the time was ripe to leave. She also had the feeling that her father and Ju should stay close otherwise trouble would beset the caravan. Still, such things did not need to be decided now, she told herself.
Finding her pack where she had left it, she tucked herself in the lee of one of the wagons and wrapped herself up in her winter travelling cloak, trying to imagine what life as a mercenary would be like. As she closed her eyes and relaxed, Zya imagined life on the road, much like she had, but with a different purpose. She wandered freely with the wagons, but something, a light perhaps, or a reflection would flicker off to one side, and when she looked back, she would find herself in some sort of a maze. Every time she tried to imagine life on the open road, the maze appeared. It was a warren of wooden tunnels, and she was unable to find her way out.
The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1) Page 27