The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  “As I once was, so shall you now be, sister mine,” Maolmordha cooed in a breathy whisper. The cloak seemed to swirl about her, constricting, as it felt its way about her body. Erilee screamed, feeling like she was covered with a thousand writhing snakes. Her mind went blank as she began to lose consciousness, even though she was still standing, and caught a glimpse of herself in a reflection as she passed out. She looked exactly as Maolmordha had done for all of that time, she thought, and that was the last thought of the girl once known as Erilee.

  Chapter Twelve

  The autumn weather was at once spectacular, and a hindrance for the caravan, as they wound their way through country lanes, surrounded by bushes as high as man. It meant that the trees were spectacular in their golden surcoats dotted with red. It also meant the occasional freezing morning, and, after a rainstorm, muddy horses and muddy clothes. Mavra tried to make the best of it. In the months that had passed since the loss of her sister and the sudden departure of Zya, Tarim and the young Ju, the procession of wagons had reverted to what would be expected of a normal band of travellers. Nobody rode about on horses, causing excitement. It was all placid and normal.

  Mavra revelled sometimes in the peace that the countryside brought her, but at other times, she was sad for her sister. The noise of a younger sister, always clamouring for attention and trying to get her way with everybody, was tiresome at the best of times, but it was only now that Mavra understood the meaning of the word family. Her parents got on with life, but it was obvious that they had still not recovered; it was like losing a limb for her mother, and a lesson in growing up rapidly for Mavra. She had formed the gap that had bridged the loss of so many people, doing as much of the work as she could, and so these quiet moments on the road were everything to her.

  Since parting with the others, the caravan had wound its way back for a while, and then, at the decision of the Mistress, they had resumed their original route. Venla's only explanation had been that she was worried about the town they had visited so long ago. Hoebridge. Mavra had never seen anything to worry her there. The children were friendly; the older people were polite and always smiled at her and gave her sweetmeats. It had seemed a perfectly nice place. She was aware that certain things had happened between their arrival at that town with the two strangers and the time they had left, but what they were she did not know. She had never wanted anything more than she now had. Not that she never had goals in her life, it was just they were different from what others might have expected.

  As women were the masters of the caravans, they were held in higher regard. The men were no less well regarded, but they had a different role in the groups that travelled. As it was, it was assumed that every girl would undergo training in certain areas – map reading, navigation, and to a certain extent, merchant skills, though not enough to contravene the rules set down by the scriptures of the old law. This was not the choice Mavra would have chosen for herself. Her sister would have been the one to get up and lead a group of travellers halfway across some unknown continent for the sheer joy of doing so. While she may have been happy sitting still, Mavra sensed that Erilee had a certain get -up-and-go about her. She had her role in the group, and learnt what she could, wherever she could, although she was sure that becoming mistress of the caravan was not for her. Enjoyment of life was what she wanted, and at this moment, it was enough.

  The wind brushed her hair back past her face; gently playing with the silk scarf her mother had given her for her name day some weeks now past. The leaves rustled, disturbed by the very same breeze, and in the distance they dropped from trees as they prepared to brace themselves for the onslaught of colder weather. It was similar for Mavra. She always felt herself withdraw inwards at this time of year, and was definitely a child of the spring. On the outside she appeared as she always did, as gentle kind Mavra. But inside, she withdrew into her own protective shell, wary of anybody. She had found solace in her inner-self since the disappearance of her sister, and she suspected she was not the only one. She had found a lot of time to contemplate whilst performing the simple chores. Her parents, who spent much time together, talking quietly between themselves, away from the others, had appreciated the chores.

  Mavra shook the reins gently, nudging the horses for straying too far to the right of the track, causing the bushes to scrape against the wood of the wagon. The horses replied obligingly; she had quickly learnt the tricks of driving a team when sudden forced to do so. There was plenty of cheerful advice from Gren, who although out of sight, always knew what to say about driving a wagon.

  The old chef's words echoed in her mind, as they had on the wind during his instruction. 'Treat them with respect, and they will respect you back. The horses know and trust you, just let them do their job.' Gren was of course right; the horses were more than happy to plod along placidly after the wagon in front. The great beasts, as Erilee had called them, were trained to do that almost from birth. Mavra hoped the horses were as content at this point as she was. Layric had explained once that if these horses were to be set free, they would not survive. They had none of the instincts of a wild animal. What had once been herd beasts would not know how to act if they were left alone to fend for themselves. It was better to kill them than let them starve, or dehydrate to the point they could not walk.

  Zya had always doubted this though, constantly arguing with him that all creatures were capable of self-determination, given their freedom, and that it would be only a matter of time until their instincts took over and they reverted to a herd. Mavra never argued with Zya, she just never had the facts that Zya seemed to pick up, as if from nowhere. Erilee would argue until she was blue in the face though, facts or none. Zya would calmly try to reason with her until Erilee would run off yelling. Coming back to herself, Mavra felt warmth on her cheeks. Raising her hand to her face, she found that she had been crying. She truly did miss all those who had left so suddenly, hard as it was to admit it to herself.

  “Is everything all right?” came her father's voice from behind the painted wooden shutters of the wagon behind her.

  “I am fine father, everything is as it should be,” Mavra replied, quickly rubbing at her face with the hem of her skirt, just in case he came out to check.

  There was a lengthy pause. “You don't want me to come out there and take over, do you dear?” said her mother's voice.

  “There is no need, Mother. It is an easy road and I enjoy it.” And that was it; her parents, satisfied that she was able to handle a team of horses in these conditions, would leave her be for a goodly while now.

  It was repetitive, day after day. There were few large settlements out on the plains since they had crossed the nameless river, swollen from the joining of the Boarsrush with some nameless tributary, that the caravan was sure Tarim, Zya and Ju had followed. Another village had grown around this joining, a name Mavra had long since forgotten. The people were the same though, always proclaiming that their bridge was the be all and end all of the world. They had wanted very little done, being wary and mistrustful of outsiders. Their tools were in bad repair, but they behaved as though they were priceless. The mistress had made the decision then and there to leave as soon as they could. The people would barely talk to those they considered to be a 'bunch of stinking tinkers', preferring to ignore them when they walked down the street.

  It had not been a pleasant experience. That had pretty much been it for habitation since they crossed the bridge that took them into the central plains. There had been the occasional farmstead where they had traded their services in return for supplies, but people were lacking, even if the roads were not. It was strange to Mavra that such long and well -kept tracks seemed to have no people travelling along them. Fortunately, nobody was in sight when she stood up to have a look around. It was quite a way before the track opened up, and the bushes had them nearly penned in at this point. Looking to see if anybody was following them, Mavra saw the strangest thing. In the far distance, the sky was scuddy, almos
t brown. It was unlike any cloud she had seen during her years of travel, but it was too far off to be able to tell what was causing it. A squirrel scampered up onto the roof of the wagon, distracting her. Girl and rodent stared at each other for a second in a moment of mutual wonder, and then the squirrel was off, leaping into a tree on the other side of the track. That small wonder distracted Mavra long enough for her to forget the odd stain in the sky behind her, and she never thought to tell anybody about it.

  The days wound on, as did the road, and still there were hardly any travellers. The track broadened and the land flattened out to the point where the only hills were behind them .The plains of Cipher were immense beyond belief. A mass of swirling grass that bent wherever the breeze touched it; a breeze that blew down out of the North had sway over everything here, as there was absolutely nothing to block it. Mavra huddled down as she drove the wagon, the wind touching her neck like the grasp of cold fingers, making her shiver when she least expected it, and playing with her hair, causing the occasional pleasant tingle. It was the same breeze that had passed by Zya far to the North. Mavra knew enough about the area to realise that the wind was generated at the ice cap, far off to the North, and would not hit any resistance down this side of the mountain chain.

  Autumn, and especially winter, were hard times for travellers here, though the farmers seemed to be able to live with it. The caravan passed by another farmstead, and the mistress ordered them to turn into the lane that led up to the main building. It was constructed in a similar fashion to the others they had seen. The back of the building was braced, angled so it provided a deflection against the wind. It was not strong, but it was determined enough to drag the temperature down to the point where everybody was cold and miserable, so one farmer had said. The overall solution had come from an order of the so-called wizards – the order of Nature.

  The people in rural areas like this tended to listen more to those of the orders than did the travelling merchants and city folk who rarely passed by. It had proved advice well taken. The communities built angled storehouses on the North facing side of their buildings. It had had an instant double effect. The farmers were pleased to find that not only did the extra building provide protection from the cold, but they proved worthwhile storehouses, with the cold of the wind keeping the temperature low enough that food stored, lasted for quite some time before going bad. It was the main reason that the farmsteads survived so well on this grassy plain.

  As they pulled up in the courtyard, forming the natural semi-circle that the few wagons always did, Mavra was surprised to see that nobody came out to greet them. The people who they had met before, however few, were warm and greeting once they got over any suspicion they had about strange travellers. They had all heard of the travellers and what they did, and were quickly at ease with them. Her father came out of the doors behind her, closely followed by her mother, who was wrapped up in a warm brown shawl against the cold.

  “What is the problem?” her father asked.

  Mavra shrugged. “No-one has come out to greet us, father.”

  He frowned, looking around the complex. “Most odd, that. Well, we'll wait until the mistress decides what to do.” He sat on the bench alongside his daughter, and stared off into the distance.

  “I will prepare my things, in case I am needed,” said her mother, who quickly disappeared back into the wagon. Within the arc that the wagons were parked in, Mavra saw that there was discussion going on in the front wagon. It was quite heated judging by the way Layric's arms were waving about, but they kept their dispute quiet. Anita and Gwyn sat there quietly, as Mavra was doing, and once in a while, Gren cackled loudly at a joke that was obviously only evident to him. The discussion up front went on. Eventually, a good while after it had started, the discussion was concluded, and some sort of decision had been made. Layric came along the near side of the wagons and said something to the other two in front. As he passed, first Gwyn, and then Gren jumped down. Layric walked with a palpable air of caution as he came close to their wagon, eyeing the farmstead and the surrounding buildings.

  “Jani, we are going to take a look around the buildings, come with us.” Layric spoke with the merest hint of reluctance, and instantly Mavra understood which way the argument had ended. Layric was a cautious man, and cared greatly for the well-being of every member of his wife's caravan. The departure of so many had hit him harder than most. He and Tarim had been firm friends. He had become slightly overprotective, but that was understandable, as his reluctance to leave the caravan exposed came from his paternal nature. Though he had no active role in the caravan, where Venla was the mother to all, Layric was the unofficial father figure to all.

  With a reluctance to leave his family, Jani jumped down from the wagon, giving a warning glance that meant be careful to Mavra and her mother. Mavra watched eagerly as the four men, joined by Cahal and Jaden, strolled with obvious caution towards the farmstead.

  The doors were locked tight, and the house appeared dark inside as the men peered in. Obviously there was no luck to be gained from standing out front, so they disappeared around the side of the complex. Mavra took this time to go back to her contemplation of the surrounding area, not that it took very long. The grassland had barely a tree dotted anywhere, and the track was one huge swathe that cut from north to south, as far as the eye could see. Just for a moment, she thought that she heard something, and then she saw the sky off to the East. Memories came flooding back to her. She knew all of a sudden that she had meant to tell somebody about it before. The stain on the sky was a dust cloud. It was clearly visible as such from this distance.

  Mavra stood, and listened. There was the faintest rumbling coming from the track to the North and East, like the whispering echoes of a far-off thunderstorm. She strained her eyes in that direction, but nothing clear could be seen. Whatever it was though, it was making a lot of noise, and a lot of dust. Without a moment's hesitation, she jumped down and walked hurriedly to the head wagon. Knocking respectfully on the door gained her almost instant admission to the interior. Venla beckoned to her to sit down, but Mavra remained standing. “There is something you must see,” she announced to the mistress, and then bolted back outside.

  Curious of her strange behaviour, and intrigued as well, Venla followed the girl out, noticing that she had climbed to the top of the next wagon and was staring East. Still as nimble as a child, Venla climbed up alongside her without a trace of difficulty.

  “Look,” said Mavra pointing.

  Venla followed her finger and started as she saw the sudden change in scenery. With the same decisiveness that marked Mavra's action, she knew exactly what she must do. “Quick, daughter, run round the building until you find the rest, and bring them with all urgency.” As she was bidden, so did she suddenly drop to the ground running. Venla watched Mavra sprint around the side of the complex and then resumed her contemplation of the approaching dust cloud. How had not noticed such a thing before? And where had it so suddenly sprung up from? In moments, Mavra was running back, the two guards with her, and the rest of the men close behind.

  “What is it, mistress?” asked the grizzled Cahal.

  “Up here, and take a look,” she replied, not taking her eyes off of the approaching cloud. Cahal climbed up to the top of the wagon, forcing Mavra and Venla to move over.

  It took but a brief moment for Cahal to decide what it was. “Horses, mistress. A great deal of horses, perhaps several hundred. Only that many would be able to raise a dust cloud so quickly.”

  The others were all gathering close as Cahal was talking. “How far off are they?” asked Anita, concern written all over her face.

  Cahal stared at the dust cloud momentarily. “I would say that they are no more than a half day behind us. They are following the same track as us, so that will slow them to the point where they will have to ride three abreast, four at the most. The question I had in my mind though was do we want that many riders to see us here?” All eyes turned to the mi
stress.

  “Our lives were never meant for hiding. We are travellers, and we are meant to be seen on the road. It is the way we have always been.” Several faces dropped visibly upon hearing this. Venla noticed this, and continued to speak. “However, recently we have had the company of some who are now sorely missed, and I have the feeling that perhaps I should be making a different decision to the one set down by our ancestors. My head tells me that we should sit here and wait and see who passes us by, but my heart tells me a completely different story altogether.”

  The entire assembled group knew whom Venla was referring to. Zya had always had a knack for picking up these signs. The last thing she had said to them in her letter was to beware what was coming behind. After the episode with Erilee's abductors, Zya's every word counted. Mavra felt a momentary pang of jealousy that they would base so much on what Zya had to say, but then reminded herself that although they had been friends, Zya and her were two completely different people. “We will hide, and let events prove me right or wrong. That is my judgement upon this matter,” Venla decided.

  As soon as the issue had been decided, Layric took command of the process of hiding and concealing not only eight people, but also four wagons, and several huge horses. Fortunately, the cold storage rooms and various other buildings provided more than enough space to conceal half an army if need be. Between them, they managed to do a pretty thorough job of concealing the wagons behind old stores or rotten fences – anything that came to hand. The horses were stabled next to a field at the back of the complex. Fortunately they were placid and generally quiet. There was little chance of anybody passing by on the road hearing them stirring in the stable, especially not when they were busy munching through the supplies that had been left there.