The patch of shrub finished with, the deer moved methodically to another and continued the process of chipping away at the hard surface with her fore hoof. The air was still, and the sky was clear, but for the distant tinge of grey and pink of cloud formations in the easternmost sky. The crescent moon rose above like a curved jewel hanging from a necklace of invisible stars in the ever-lessening light of early evening. It was a stupendous sight, but one rarely appreciated by a deer that was hungry. It chewed rapidly, ever on the hunt for more sustenance, its liquid eyes looking around. The doe was ever fearful of wolves and the like; its white and speckled coat a match for most of the winter weather, but in this small wood, it also stood out rather obviously.
The doe raised her head suddenly. Naturally bred instincts gave the deer a heightened sense of alertness, and she sensed that something was wrong. Her eyes peered intently, the liquid blackness searching the surrounding terrain of the trees and bushes. Nothing moved, not even a leaf in the still of the evening air. The doe's instincts were torn between staying still, and bolting for open terrain. The latter would only be the case if something appeared and startled her. Her ears raised, she listened for the source of the disturbance, but there was no further sound. Stock-still she stayed, not moving a muscle, until the feeling of solitude gradually began to reassert itself. The doe went back to her monotonous task, doggedly trying to find food.
There was but a moments warning for her. The tiniest movement of air, accompanied by the merest of whistles, and she was gone. Bolted in an instant, running for all her precious life was worth, not even thinking to look behind. She ran, tiny legs outstretched, and occasionally jumped and kicked her hind legs to put off the foe that was surely behind her.
Back at the site that until so recently has been occupied by the deer, two arrows stuck out of a tree just above where the deer had been grazing. Their shafts were polished and smooth, and the feathers were those of a raven, the deepest black, tied with gut to the arrows. They still quivered where their impact had driven them into the wood of the tree, and small lumps of frozen snow dripped unceremoniously to the floor, disturbed by the shock of the impact. The silence of the still evening was broken by a series of curses from a person who should not really have known the meaning of them for his age. But Ju had lived around the innkeeper and all the regular patrons of the tavern he had been stable boy for, and so he knew exactly the contents of his curses. He stomped across the twenty or so yards that separated him from his arrows, and tried to yank them out of the tree-trunk.
“It will not avail you to pull them out that way, my young friend,” said Lorn, who was somewhat shocked by the choice of language the boy had used, though also amused at the same time. Ju stood aside, looking intently at the tree as Lorn showed him the method he used in this situation. Lorn reached for the first arrow, grabbed it with one hand, then flicked his wrist up and down, and the arrow slid free as he withdrew his hand. The arrowhead, serrated and hooked, also came free.
“There you go,” Lorn said as he handed the arrow to the boy. “Now you have a go.”
A quick learner, Ju repeated the method with moderate success. Only a handful of splinters came out, but the arrowhead was undamaged.
“A useful trick that, and it protects both the arrow and the tree, of which both are sacred to us.”
Ju looked at the mess he had left in the trunk of the tree. “That won't ruin the tree then?”
Lorn shook his head slightly. “The trees of the North are as tough as the people. It will take some time, but the tree will live beyond it. Even now it is starting to repair itself.” Lorn pointed at the trunk, and Ju looked closely. As they watched, thick, syrupy sap began to flow from the trunk where the bark had been pierced. Ju reached out to touch the sap, and pulled a fine golden stream of it away with his finger, catching the light of the setting sun as he did so. Lorn laughed as the boy tried without much success to scrape it off of his hands.
“Let me,” Lorn offered, scraping it off with an arrowhead and depositing the sap on the tree.
“Sticky, isn't it?” Ju observed. “I bet it would be great for attaching things together.”
“Indeed it is,” Lorn agreed, amazed by how the boy repeatedly saw right to the heart of things. “We use it to attach feathers to arrows when there is a lack of any sort of twine. Done in the right way it will not affect the flight of the arrow. As with all things though, something used to kill can also be used to heal. You see how the sap covers the wound the arrow made in the tree? Well the same properties of the sap can be used in a poultice brewed by the healers. They keep a grove that is sacred to them somewhere to the North, and as I did with the fish, so does another with the sap. They farm it from the trees, and bring it to the camps.”
Ju looked at the tree in a state of wonder. “Do all things have such magic in them?”
“It is not magic, just common sense and skills learned through generations of tradition and teaching,” Lorn said as he touched the tree reverently.
“In such a hostile country we use everything we can to survive. The most important thing to remember though is to never waste a scrap. The deer you were hunting will go much further than to just provide a decent meal for us. It's very skin and bones will be used for clothes, weapons and various other things.”
Ju looked off in the direction the deer had escaped, his breath steaming in the air as he looked silently at the stark landscape around the copse. “Somebody else will capture that deer now, won't they?” Ju asked sadly.
Thoughtfully, Lorn looked off into the distance.
“No Ju, they will not.”
Ju looked up at the man. “Why not? Surely if I have missed it, then somebody should. That is merely practical.”
“But it is not our way, my young friend,” Lorn explained. “That deer has been marked by you as a target. Nobody in this range will touch it before you mark it again. We do not hunt for sport, but we do hold true to one of our oldest traditions: the hunter's right. It is your right as the one to sight and mark the prey to also be the one to kill it. Although we do not waste food here in the steppes, we do not give it away easily. A kill is a precious thing, and involves more than just shooting an arrow. Many of the finest hunters have spent countless seasons training the young in the ways of the tracker, for if you cannot find your prey, you cannot hunt it.” The man, not much older than a boy looked down at his young companion. Eager and willing to do anything because he was interested, he was naive to the ways of the tribesmen. “You will learn to track. I will teach you.”
Ju looked in the direction the deer had bolted. “Is it hard?”
Lorn walked forward, to the place where the deer had been grazing. Even now the ground was frosting over, the minuscule shrubs already covered by the tiniest ice crystals. He bent down, looking the same direction as Ju. “Come here,” he said quietly.
Ju came over and looked down at the ground. “What is it that we are looking for?” Lorn held up his hand. “Listen.” Ju strained his ears, trying to hear something. The crystalline perfection of the early evening held no sound but that of his own breathing. Even Lorn seemed to be completely silent, but Ju could see that he was not holding his breath.
“That is what you must learn, to become a skilled hunter,” Lorn whispered, his voice only slightly louder than absolute quiet. “The hunters of our tribe do not make a sound, not even when breathing. That is the most difficult skill to learn, and the skill that takes the longest to master. Any lucky fool can hit a deer with an arrow, but only a clever one with seasons of practice can get close enough to stand a chance.”
Ju looked back at the short distance they had crossed to get to the tree. “But we were so close,” he complained, his teeth starting to chatter.
“No my young friend, we were not. A master tracker could have closed the distance by anything up to a half without the deer ever noticing it. But worry not Ju, that deer is not going anywhere, and neither are we. Let us get back to camp.”
&nbs
p; 'Camp', as Lorn called it, was something Ju had never seen before. It was a round, tent-like house made entirely of snow. It was partially concealed from the surroundings by the fact that it had been built down into a snowdrift. They climbed down the steps into the tunnel leading into the main room, and entered under a flap of hide that served as a door. Previous tenants had dug out a fire pit, and Lorn soon had a small but cosy fire blazing away in the middle of the circular room. Ju looked around, as he crouched on the rugs that had been strewn about the floor.
“Will the fire not melt all of this snow?” he asked cautiously, peering around at the tonnes of snow packed around him.
“It never has before,” Lorn replied, fishing a pan out of his pack and setting it over the fire to warm up. “Up in the middle of the roof is a small hole, and that lets out any excess heat. In a room such as this, it is surprising how warm it can get. These ice houses have been the main method of survival for hunters all over the region since the tribes first set foot on the steppes.”
Ju was privately thankful for a place such as this, and he admitted silently to himself that it was most comfortable. He thought he had seen snow as a child. Occasionally, in deepest winter when the cold wind blew out of the north and deflected off the mountains they would have a blizzard. It was fun for the children in the village, but barely lasted a few days. When it had begun to snow up on the steppes as the tribe moved slowly North, it had not stopped, snowing continually for weeks. Only the sluggish but continual movement of the herds had made it possible for the tribe to continue moving. Ju thought he has seen snow, but the landscape now was blanketed with it, and accompanied by the incessant, bitter wind, the snow soon become solid ice.
The boredom of moving slowly with the herds soon set in for Ju, despite all there was to see and learn around the camps. Very quickly the chill seemed to magnify as he stared out at the bleak landscape, unchanging in any aspect. It had been about this time that Tarim had suggested a bit more in the way of recreation for him. Zya was still in the old woman's chrysalis-like tent, and showed no sign of emerging. Ju made friends with a few of the children, but most of them were so reserved, he often felt alone, in spite of their numbers. There was only so much one could talk about before silence crept in and stifled the most animated of conversations.
Lorn had come to him and suggested a bit more tuition with the bow. Remembering his bow, Ju stretched over and grabbed his oilskin. It was important that he remembered to treat his bow with utmost care, Lorn had instructed. This included unstringing it when it was not going to be used; evidently this would keep the bow fresher. He marvelled at the touch of the silken wood in his hands as he caressed the bow. The weapon bent easily, almost acceding to his will.
The polished hand-grip was sure and solid, providing his hand with the perfect touch. He knew he was young, but he saw the guarded looks others gave him back at the camp when they saw his bow. He put it away, realising how close to the fire he was, something he should never do. Yet another thing Lorn had taught him as they travelled.
They had made their way North with Ju receiving constant reassurance that they would never lose the herd because they were near their winter feeding grounds. They had slept in tents for the first few nights. They were hospitable, but freezing cold. Ju never complained though, as he had suffered worse sleeping outside the back of the inn. This was his first night in the ice-house, and he was so warm and content that he drowsed as he watched the fire, which was cooking something too delicious for words.
* * *
The plateau was stony, but clear of debris. It spread on as far as the eye could see; yellow platforms mixed with subtle orange and russet tones. In places, the plateau rose up to great cliffs, rearing into great blocks of rock. Everything seemed angular, as if the whole world were made out of the same stone, each with the same shapes. He walked carefully down a series of these step -like blocks, each step barely the width of his hand. He wandered for a while, bemused by the stark landscape. The surface of the plateau had many shallow dips and gullies where water had run off over a great many seasons, but if there was any sense of nearby water in this region, he could not feel it. It felt warm and comforting, and he was cosy here, and that seemed to be all that mattered.
The glow of the sky reflected the russet stone beneath his feet; a pale orange with no sun to behold. It never occurred to him that the lack of sun should be alarming in any way. The air was still, and the surrounding land emitted not a single noise. Even the way he walked was utterly quiet, and for that he was very pleased, as if he was not meant to make a sound.
His walking took him further down a crude pathway, for want of a better term. But in fact, it just seemed as if the rock on the plateau had guided him here, as there was really no discernible track underfoot. He looked back over his shoulder; the square -cut plateau went on forever, and off to his right yawned a great gorge, formed of the same rock, and covered with huge black marks, as if something too immense to describe had forced its way through. Turning back, he descended into a section of the plateau different to the rest, where the outcroppings were high enough to be called walls. It would have looked like some ancient ruin but for the fact that the stone was exactly the same as the rest of the plateau.
Here and there it had crumbled though, and that made it unique in a land where everything else was tidy. He wandered in and around the walls, just accepting them for what they were and not the least bit curious. He felt calm, detached somewhat, as if this were all a surreal experience. He rounded a corner, and found her sitting on an outcropping. He knew that he felt pleased at her being here, but none of the feeling suffused his body.
She sat, legs tucked under her, looking at an object across from her. It was as clear as the sky above, and the same pale orange glow suffused it. He understood that he had been summoned here just as she had, and that this object was what had drawn them. He walked towards it, and she joined him, stepping lightly down from her perch with all of the silence that accompanied his. They walked together, close but not touching, until they climbed the few steps that led to the object. As they neared, he saw his reflection alongside hers.
The object was a mirror of sorts, though not a solid piece of glass. He reached out and touched it, leaving ripples that spread out concentrically, and then bounced back over each other. He looked over at her and she looked back with not the faintest bit of curiosity, and he felt the same way. The ripples danced and played for a while, leaving them even more bemused. As they eventually dissipated, he looked at the mirror again. Her reflection was clear, but his was fuzzy and somewhat indistinct, the edges wavering slightly while his features were not quite in proportion to the rest of his face.
Beyond his wavering reflection, he saw giant T-shaped, stone structures. They were far off in the distance, but they were easy to see, as they were the only other objects visible within the mirror. Startled, not only at the fact that the reflection had changed, but at the fact that he suddenly had a feeling at all, he jumped back a step, stumbling slightly on a loose bit of rock. The rock tumbled off down the steps of the plateau, echoing in the mass of silence. This was new.
He turned his head to see that things had changed some. What had happened to the walls? He looked around uncertainly, anxiously. His sudden concern was mirrored in her eyes, as she too looked around. A slithering noise drew their eyes back to the mirror in front of them. His reflection had somehow stepped closer to the mirror, and was in the process of walking through it, very slowly. As it crossed the threshold he let out a low moan, full of fear. The reflection passing through the mirror still had the indistinct features of the rippling version of himself, and it made him look somehow alien. It reached hungrily for them as it passed through, and this was enough.
Freed from their fear-frozen stasis, they looked at each other and turned, and then ran, with speed incredible enough to be unbelievable. The ground literally flew under their feet as they coursed along the plateau. As they did so, he looked over his should
er and at the same time there was an inhuman screech, one of agonised pain and tremendous frustration. The reflection came tearing along the plateau after them, running at least as fast as they. In blind panic, she tried to run in a different direction. He knew that should not part or they would both be in incredible danger. He did not know how he knew this fact, just that it was the truth. He raced after her, holding onto her hand.
They ran, and the rocky plateau remained unchanged, presenting itself with stony monotony, before disappearing just as rapidly. There was no noise from the being behind them, but it was still there, dodging, weaving, trying to part them, but he had a grip like iron.
The landscape began to change. Gradually, small outcroppings began to grow around them. The yawning gap to their right suddenly seemed less ominous and it appeared as if the bottom was rising up to meet them. He suddenly had an idea, angling the course of their run straight at the gorge. The creature stopped in its tracks. It had not expected this. Seeing that it had halted, he ran with renewed vigour, sending them both flying off the edge of the gorge, to apparent oblivion.
And then they were on the far side of a lake, amongst a maze of the rock walls. How they had come to be here was a mystery to him. Looking around, he felt relieved that the creature from the mirror was not here with them. The walls were made of similar rock as before, but there were profound differences. Black intruded greatly upon the red hues, crumbled and gouged, as if something heavy had bashed against them. A gap in one of the walls provided an excellent view of the lake, slightly below them, and to their left. They could even see the edge of the cliff they had jumped from, but still had not a clue as to how they got here.
A noise caught their attention from the side of the lake. The reflection emerged as it had from the mirror, smoothly, and without disturbing the lake's surface. The noise of the creature's breathing that had alerted them, for it was loud, almost as if it were right behind their shoulders, a quick, and very deep noise, like a repetitive nasal growl. They crouched down, hidden from the creature but still with a very good view of it from behind their wall. It peered around, obviously seeking them, but returning often to the water to sniff for something. Abruptly, and without any warning, it stood, face held high, and yelled at the top of its voice. A sound of pain and anguish, of such utter hopelessness and desolation that it would have driven many a man to cover his ears and weep in fear for his own life. It was not that which shocked the pair hiding up in their maze of walls; it was the fact that amongst the yell, in a thick accent that sounded like rocks grating together, they had heard the words 'I love you'.
The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1) Page 44