The Focus Stone (The Tome of Law Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  Venla edged her way to the border of track with trees, and peered into the gloom. It eventually became clear what was up there. Forest deer, rare in any place, glanced around nervously, the light behind them making beautiful silhouettes in its golden glow. Venla stood in reverent awe, looking at the beautiful creatures that were unaware of anybody watching them.

  For a while nobody moved, and the girls watched the deer as if they had completely forgotten they were on the run. Then somebody shuffled, and a stick cracked with a staccato rapport, sending a flock of small birds fluttering, and the deer leaping and bounding off as if a pack of wolves were on their heels. Venla looked around. Patrick had found the thickest piece of deadwood he could, and had cracked it with one huge stomp of his boot. He glared at Venla.

  “Let us all stay here freezing and hungry while you watch food go about its business, old woman.”

  Frustration made her give vent to this man who had nothing but rude comments. “I don't know what you were doing in that camp, but it was nothing to do with anything that respected the Old Law,” she said acidly. “And I do not know why you have bothered to stay with us.”

  “I ask myself that same thing every day,” he grumbled as he stomped past her. Getting helpless stares from everybody else, Venla sent a withering look in the direction of Patrick, and then continued onwards.

  Eventually, they began to angle to the North. The scenery never changed, but the angle of the sun and the whispering return of the breeze from the North provided an unwelcome reminder as to what faced them. The track angled towards a gully in the edge of the hill from which a stream was trickling. They had stopped to drink when Gwyn held up his hand for silence. Voices penetrated the shroud of the trees. Venla looked around at the group. All were crouched, barely breathing. Something was wrong, but she could not place what it was. The voices got closer, more distinct. “They are on that path, I am sure of it echoed one voice.”

  “What makes you so sure?” argued another.

  “There is no other possible way for them to go,” the voice sounded somewhat familiar. “It is the only way they could have gone after I left them.”

  Venla stood, and looked around. Patrick was gone. Concerned with moving her own two feet forward, she had not noticed. Slowly it dawned on those looking at her that there was a problem, and gradually every other person by the stream realised what that problem was.

  Venla peered in the direction of the stream. The voices appeared to be coming from below. The stream ended in a sharp bluff where it trickled down the face of the rock to a point a few metres below them. Through the cover of the trees she thought she could see Patrick, although he looked bigger somehow.

  “Go back that way and you will find the track up, and there you shall find them,” he said to whomever the trees hid from their view. Her heart sank. Venla cursed herself for being such a fool, and at that very moment Patrick seemed to stare straight at her from below. She moved quickly back.

  “When was the last time you saw Patrick?” she asked quietly of her gathered group. Shaken heads and shrugged shoulders were the only replies. Silent cursing did not become Venla, and well she knew it, but she could not help herself. “We are trapped. They are right down there and we have been played for fools from the very beginning.”

  Jani rose and walked up the stream a short way. He beckoned with one silent hand. Venla rose to join him. The source of the stream levelled off to a cut in the hill, from which no wind came. Maybe there was hope for them yet. With a curt nod, Jani led the way, Ramaji following, and then the two girls. Venla waited with Gwyn to the last, and then hurried after.

  The cut in the hill opened out into a mini gorge, with moss and creepers hanging overhead from the surface of the hills. The rock was damp, and the source of the stream was obvious – it was the path of least resistance for the water. They were dripped on, but without the constant breeze, they were no more than damp and uncomfortable – better than captured. So narrow was the gorge that they could only walk single file, and the time it was taking them frustrated Venla. There was no chance of bringing the rock down behind them. No purchase could be gained on rock covered with algae and slippery to the touch. It would take a wizard of the earth guild to aid them now, and Venla was sure that there would be none anywhere nearby.

  They followed the rocky path around several turns, everybody glancing behind. It seemed to Venla that they had spent so long glancing behind them, ever since they had crossed the mountain ridge so long ago, and nothing was changing for them. She kept an eye out for any possible pursuit, and bumped into Ramaji, who had stopped, and was looking down the path. The rest of the group were all looking forward, and it took Venla a moment to comprehend what the large dark object was.

  A stone spire thrust out of the ground and above them, reaching hungrily for the sky. The land around it made it appear as if it had been thrust up from below, as it was all crumpled and yet still retained the grass on its surface. The surrounding area opened up into a rough bowl shape, with the rest of the hills rising steeply above it. The miraculous shape meant that there was no easy way in, but also that there was no apparent exit other than the one they had just entered from.

  Overcome by curiosity, and forgetting for a moment that they were being chased down, the four travellers, and the two girls they had met, spread out to explore this strange place.

  Although everybody else moved away from the obelisk, Venla found herself drawn towards the huge stone. She climbed around it, looking at the surface, mesmerised by the sparkles that reflected light in the otherwise completely black stone. It seemed to have four faces, though they were slightly dulled by weathering. Brambles grew around one side, the side furthest from the entrance. Venla peered in amongst them. There appeared to be something behind them. Risking numerous small jabs from the spines of the plant, she pushed her way through the brambles to look. It was a carving. She bent close, unsure of what she could see, and gasped.

  The language of the writing was that of her own people, the travellers from the East. The stone writing was a simple message: The gates aligned focus the mind to cross the bridge. It did not make sense. Nothing she had ever learned had ever mentioned anything about her people constructing towers of stone, or bridges of any sort. Keeping her discovery to herself, Venla moved away from the stone to look around the valley. It was true, there was no easy way out of it aside from the one entrance. The lie of the land just made no sense whatsoever, but the whole valley focussed on the stone.

  Jani hurried over, his wife following closely behind. “Do we leave?”

  “Yes I think we must at least try to. We may have a chance of finding a different path, though I did not see any as we were walking through the woods.”

  “Oh I wouldn't worry yourself about paths out of here,” a dark voice interrupted them. They turned to look in the direction of the entrance where Patrick appeared to be standing. He thrust his cloak back, and a familiar object swung loosely from his hand, a flail.

  “Thrasher!” gasped Gwyn. The man grinned evilly, fixing his eye on them all, but especially on Venla.

  “You are all mine now, especially you, you little bitch.” rasped their till-recent companion in his sadistic voice. From behind him emerged at least a dozen of the soldiers of the camp they had escaped from. Everyone was wide eyed, and grinning, almost a rictus of a grin, as a skeleton might grin from out of its tomb. Whatever had happened to these men had transformed them beyond the humans they had been. Worse though, each carried a sword.

  Seeing the fear in the eyes of the small group, one drooling soldier lurched forward, drawing his sword back for a swing at Gwyn. As he made to complete the move, his sword went flying with a metallic clang. Thrasher had flicked out with his flail and caught the man's arm. The soldier struggled, desperate to continue his attack, but Thrasher was the bigger man, and held him easily.

  “You see how it is, people,” he said almost conversationally. “You may have escaped us once, but you shall neve
r do so again.” Holding the still-struggling soldier with his flail, he pulled a small shiny object from a pocket with his other hand.

  Momentarily his eyes grew distant, and to her horror, Venla realised that the man had some ability in focussing. With a clap of air, two figures emerged from nowhere. The sneer of O'Bellah was nothing new, but the other figure that hulked over him stank of evil and left everybody but Venla, O'Bellah and Thrasher cowering in fear.

  “Well, our little cook and her rag-tag band of tinkers,” said O'Bellah, flexing his fingers as if anticipating something joyful. “Did you think that we would let any of you escape us? A merry little ride my army has had now, but I think that the time for running is over.”

  Out of nowhere his hand flicked out, and he slapped Venla as hard as she could fathom was possible. She fell to the ground and clutched at her face, which had gone completely numb. She lay there, feeling the tears running down her face, afraid suddenly to even look up at him.

  “What is this?” she heard him ask. “One of our brothers was a little too eager to play,” Venla heard Thrasher reply.

  “Bah, not another one,” snorted O'Bellah. A hand yanked at her, pulling at her back. “Up, woman. Watch and see what happens to those who tempt my wrath.” O'Bellah literally dragged Venla to her feet, where she stood watching mutely as the hulking figure of darkness materialised into the form of the Golem.

  Legendary creatures, bound with the most evil of magics, Golems were supposedly a myth, a bad tale to tell on a dark night. That there was one here now meant that something grand was afoot. Stone skin gleamed against the cloudy sky and the Golem rumbled rather than walked its way over to the man who had tried to attack them. Carefully, it reached out one huge stone paw to touch the side of the head of the man who was unaware of anything other than the fact that he had people nearby who he wanted to kill. It was only after the contact with the golem that the man shrieked, crying out incomprehensibly in pain and anguish.

  Thrasher let the man go, for the grip of the Golem was absolute. The creature leaned back in apparent ecstasy as the wailing shriek of the soldier began to thin with his body. Perhaps thin was not the right word for what Venla was seeing. The man was becoming transparent, and being drawn ever closer to the body of the Golem. The wail quietened until it was but another facet of the air around them, and then that too disappeared. Utter silence, and then one of the girls began to sob, Venla knew not who. She looked at the Golem, hatred stronger than any fear of the radiating evil. The creature stared back impassively.

  O'Bellah leaned in towards her. “We have had a few like that, driven mad by contact with the emissary. They serve our purpose better by having their souls swimming in agony for all eternity.” He grinned evilly as he said this, but there was something in his eyes that made him look almost desperate, as if running were the only thing he wanted to do. It did not show well, but it was evident to Venla, ever a good judge of people.

  “The others?” she asked, referring to the rest of the army.

  “They have been strengthened by the touch of the emissary. Those who do not go mad will return to their families, changed and strengthened in many ways. Come the spring they will answer a call and join in the greatest hunt of the witch finder General. A hunt to eradicate those who persist in following that pathetic set of rules set down by so-called Gods. They will rise up, and crush them. The witches will be exposed and decimated. The people will join us or they shall perish alongside them”

  “This is madness,” Venla replied, unable to believe what she was hearing. “You are talking about the Genocide of a people whose only want in life is to live in peace.”

  O'Bellah looked like he was going to strike her, but instead, he leaned down towards her, his round face as close to her as could be without touching. “Times are changing, woman, and you are going to witness these changes first hand. The first people we go after are your carpenter and his slut of a daughter.”

  “Why? What have they ever done to you?”

  O'Bellah turned and approached the Golem, and then turned back in her direction, stomping with hurried steps. “Because they are all the same, and shall be made example of. Do not deny it woman. We know that they are not of your precious little caravan, and we also know where they are from. They are of the same ilk of those who now cross the land towards us, and have them we shall. Round them up in one fell swoop and be rid of the lot of them!”

  O'Bellah finished his speech expansively, with his arms spread wide of his corpulent body. Quietly, he added, “But they will not feel the catch of our snare until the spring, and by then we will have them all. You, my little tinker; you and your miserable band of followers are going to help us catch them. Make no mistake. We were ever in control. Your borrowed time has just run out.”

  Without a word, the soldiers herded the other five close to Venla. O'Bellah stepped out of the way, letting the Golem come in close to them. It loomed black, and Venla closed her eyes, hoping that the memory of the plaque was locked safely away.

  We hope you enjoyed reading The Focus Stone. If you have a moment, please leave us a review - even if it's a short one. We want to hear from you.

  The story continues in The Path of Dreams.

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  Best regards,

  Matthew W. Harrill and the Creativia Team

  The Path of Dreams

  The Tome of Law Book Two

  Finding dramatic first-hand evidence of the recent imitation of the original Night of Spears, Keldron Vass uncovers a plot amounting to nothing less than genocide, and the key to it all is someone he has never met.

  Unbeknownst to her, people have been watching and following Zya's every move, but as her natural foresight develops into the powers of a tribal seer, Zya begins to understand the path her destiny must tread…

  The adventure continues in 2004

  Matthew W. Harrill

  About The Author

  Matthew Harrill has lived all of his life in the South West of England. In 1997 he graduated from the University of Southampton with an honours degree in geology. This year he finally married his partner of eight years, Tricia. They have one son and another child on the way.

  The Focus Stone is his first major publication.

  Books by the Author

  The Tome of Law

  The Focus Stone, Book 1

  The Path of Dreams, Book 2

  The Arc Chronicles

  Hellbounce, Book 1

  Hellborne, Book 2

  Hellbeast, Book 3

  The Eyes Have No Soul