by Matt Moss
She turned her gaze to the sky and closed her eyes as she drew in the fresh air. The blue-sky sun kissed her skin and she felt her spirit rise.
Topping the hill, her home came into view. The farm lay nestled in a field of green amid the rolling hills. The sight of it always made her proud to be a farmer’s daughter. She shook her head and smiled, noticing the chickens were out again. Her brother was supposed to fix the fence days ago.
Smoke rose from the chimney of the farmhouse. She made her way to the stables. Lyla tended to the horses every day after school.
She loved animals, sometimes more than people. They were great listeners and never condescended anything she had to say. She felt like they believed in her.
“Hello, Pearla, you old girl,” she said patting the neck of her mother’s white horse. It nuzzled her back in affection. “Oh, I missed you, too! And what of you, Tom?” she said to the brown mare in the next stable. He snorted and bobbed his head up and down in reply. She laughed, “I’ll get you in a second, hold on.”
After the horses were fed and brushed down, she made her way around the back of the barn. She was startled at the sight of an unfamiliar, massive brown horse. It paid her no mind as it casually ate at a pile of grains.
Company, she thought.
Sneaking around the back of the house, she peeked through the window. Sitting at the dinner table was her father, mother, and a giant of a man. She could see that the big man had long, blonde hair and a trimmed beard. He sat up straight in the chair and seemed important and purposeful. They were in discussion and both her parents looked deep in thought.
Lyla smoothed down her clothes and stood tall before she opened the front door.
“Mother, I’m home,” she said. “You’ll never guess what happened at school today. Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, acting surprised when she saw that they had a guest.
“Hello, dear,” her mother, Lesia, said and stood. “Come in. We have a visitor. This is Brother Torin. He’s here to see you, child.”
Lyla looked at the big man then at her father, Jegar, who sat with his eyes fixed on the table.
The massive man turned in greeting, “Hello, Lyla. I have been commissioned with recruiting young, gifted men and women. You have been selected as one of the top of our ranks to attend the Grand Highlands.”
She noted his voice as deep and rough, but his eyes as warm and kind.
The Grand Highlands, she thought. They have the most skilled hands in the kingdom. Surely I can learn to be a doctor there.
“It is a great honor to be invited, but of course, the choice is yours,” Torin said with a slight bow of his head.
A rush of excitement gripped her as she thought of the possibilities. She looked at her father. “But what about the farm? It was a long winter and...”
“Hush, child,” Jegar said looking at her. “Your brothers and sisters can help us with the farm. This is a chance of a lifetime. You can become what you’ve always wanted,” his voice quivered. “You can be so much more.”
“Can I become a doctor?” she said, her eyes longing.
Torin smiled, “At the Grand Highlands, you can become whatever you want to be.”
Lesia regarded her daughter with tears in her eyes, nodding her head in approval.
Lyla looked at her father, seeking approval from him as well.
“Well, go on then,” he said with pride. “Run and pack your things, dear.”
She held a scream of excitement as she turned to run up the stairs.
Later, as the evening sun began to fade, the family gathered for the night’s meal, honoring Brother Torin as their guest. Lyla’s brothers and sisters were sent to stay the night at their Aunt’s house in Fortuna.
“Tell us about the Grand Highlands, Brother Torin,” Jegar said between bites. “What’s it like?”
“It is a community that supports one another,” Torin said. “We learn together and train together in all that we do.”
“And what is it that you do exactly?” Jegar asked, wanting a clearer picture while there was still time to change his mind.
“What have you heard?” Torin asked, pausing his meal and raising an eyebrow.
“Only the gossip of small town folk,” Jegar said as he sliced into a thick cut of ham. “That nobody really knows what goes on up there. Some say that the Order trains folk to master the Dark Arts. Surely that isn’t true.”
“Aye, I’ve heard the same rumors in my travels,” Torin said and forked another bite of food from the plate. “Unfortunately, I am sworn to secrecy and cannot say much about the affairs of the Order.”
“I’ve got no patience for such nonsense, Brother Torin,” Jegar raised his voice, concerned now that gossip might be the truth. “The way I see it, some things ought to be left alone.”
“Jegar,” Lesia chided. “He’s our guest!”
“I won’t have my daughter around that evil! If they are going to train her in the Dark Arts, then she doesn’t go.”
“Father!” Lyla cried. He was so eager before. What happened?
“I want opportunity for her,” Jegar said. “Not danger.”
“It’s alright,” Torin said with a wave of his hand. “Let me put all of your minds at ease. We do not train anyone, nor partake in, anything related to the Dark Arts.”
“No sacrifices?” Jegar asked. “Because I have heard tales of that too.”
“No. Nor do we drink the blood of goats or practice any ritualistic séances. We train people to use their mind, body, and spirit,” Torin said with clenched fist. “We empower them to utilize their soul’s true potential.”
Lyla looked desperately to her father.
“How long will she stay?” Jegar asked.
“Depends. Master Arze is the best doctor we know of. He will say when she’s ready.”
“A year?” Lesia asked.
“The Order is a lifelong commitment,” Torin said. “Even if she becomes a master in say, five years, she still must keep the Order’s code and be ready for service whenever called upon.”
Upon hearing the words, Lyla second guessed her decision, but only momentarily. The will to achieve her dream burned inside. Her mind was made up.
“I will go. And when I return, you will know,” she stated with more confidence than she ever had in anything.
Her father’s apprehensive demeanor turned as a grin crept across his face. “There’s your answer, Brother Torin. No other way about it, she’s about as stubborn as a mule. Just like her mother.” Jegar looked fondly at his wife.
Lying in her bed that night for the last time, Lyla could hardly sleep. She knew that in the morning she would begin to live the life of her dreams. The life she always wanted.
She awoke to the smell of breakfast and cool spring air. After eating, she packed her things and embraced her parents.
Her mother smiled fondly. “Take this,” she said and placed a necklace around Lyla’s neck. A small white stone set in the pendant gleamed in the sunlight. “It was your great-grandmother’s and her mother’s before that. Now it’s yours.”
“Thank you, Mother, it’s lovely.” Lyla embraced her. “Goodbye.”
Lesia kissed her daughter on the forehead.
Torin jumped upon the massive brown horse and pat its neck, readying it for the trip.
Lyla’s father helped her upon Pearla.
“Goodbye, Father. Thank you, for everything.”
He smiled in the way a loving father does. “Go now, make us proud. We love you.”
“I love you both, and I will see you soon!” Lyla said with tears in her eyes.
Torin looked at both parents and gave a nod of assurance. Jegar nodded back, his face quivering slightly.
He nudged the horses on.
Lyla looked back through sore eyes one last time before her parents, and the farm, were both out of sight.
Three
Lucian cursed every time his horse hit a bump or a hole along the road back to Sanctum, the Dark Society
’s base. The fight with Levi had surely left him with a couple of broken ribs, a slight concussion, and more cuts and bruises than he cared to count.
The bastard hadn’t lost his edge even after all those years, he thought.
The mountain pass was hard enough to traverse after leaving The Crossing, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The most agonizing part of the journey was the constant spring rain. Being soaked to the bone and cold amplified Lucian’s pains exponentially.
What I wouldn’t give for a mug of warm ale, he thought. I’ll have my fill when I get back. The thought of returning made him pause. He hadn’t found The Path of Man, but he had killed Levi.
That had to count for something. If his master didn’t like that, then he could find somebody else to do his dirty work. Good luck with that.
Lucian was known to be the Society’s best man. No matter how big or dirty the job was, he always delivered. His master spent years in training him and always handpicked him for the most special kind of jobs.
He knew finding this book wasn’t going to be easy. It took me years just to trace it to Levi. If he sends me on another wild goose chase, I’ll tell him to piss off.
Being the master’s dog on a leash was starting to wear thin on him. Lucian knew he could kill the man if he wanted to, probably. He had only met one other person who could beat him in a fight and now he was dead.
Lucian followed the road until he saw the familiar landmark. He veered off onto a deer trail that cut through the woods. Moss and other foliage hung from the branches that blocked out most of the sunlight. A crow cried out from the canopy above. It didn’t take a superstitious man to get an eerie feeling about the place.
Lucian looked around cautiously. He always felt like there were watchful eyes waiting in the darkness of the woods. After traveling for a span, he saw the mouth of the cave. Two guards were posted outside in the rain.
“Damn fine day ain’t it, men,” Lucian jeered as he strolled by.
One guard looked down at the ground while the other one tended to Lucian’s horse. The men held their tongues, knowing better than to test the man in black.
Folk still talked about the time that an assassin smarted off to Lucian, testing his manhood. Lucian broke the side of the man’s face. And he wasn’t even soul tapped.
Lucian made his way down the entrance tunnel, boots splashing the water that ran from the mouth of the cave. Torches hung from the sides of the rock wall, illuminating the path as it descended deeper into the earth. After a few turns, the cave opened up into a large, open room.
Members of the Dark Society were grouped in clusters. Most seemed to be conversing, while others were busy stacking boxes and crates, preparing for… something. The ringing of steel echoed off the rock walls from men sparring. Karn, the giant, stood alone, surrounded by four men. He held his sword close to his bare chest, ready to strike.
Lucian watched as the amateurs attacked the big man two at a time, swinging wildly. He shook his head as they each fell to the ground, leaving the big man to roar in victory.
The great room had four other tunnels that connected to it. One led to the barracks where the men slept. One to the workshop that held all the supplies needed for the master blacksmiths, fletchers, and armorers. One to the command headquarters which was occupied by Lucian’s master, Victor himself. The last tunnel led to a place that even Lucian didn’t know. Only Victor was allowed in. A thick steel gate secured into the stone, along with a guard posted at all times, blocked the entrance.
Lucian made his way to the command headquarters. “I’m here to see the Master.”
“One moment,” the scrawny old man sitting behind a desk, said. He left, favoring his right leg as he entered the tunnel.
Someone spoke from behind Lucian.
“I see you come limping home and empty handed, Lucian. The Master will love that.”
Lucian turned to see the bare chested giant smiling at him. He had a shaved head, braided red beard, and stood two head lengths over a normal man. Blood lay splattered all over his huge chest and arms from the men he killed while sparring.
“I told him he should have sent me,” Karn said.
“You should thank him for not sending you, because if he had, you would be dead,” Lucian shot back.
The big man tensed up.
“I’m sure he will find a job that suits you,” Lucian said. “Like scaring women and children with that big ugly face of yours.”
“You must have a death wish, little man,” Karn threatened.
Lucian stepped up close to the giant. “Care to find out?”
The big man exuded hate and contempt at Lucian. He put his hand on his dagger.
“The Master will see you now,” the old man grunted as he feebly sat back at his desk.
“That’s twice he’s saved you,” Lucian said as he turned around and walked down the tunnel.
The Master’s chamber was lit by hundreds of burning candles. He sat behind a large wooden desk littered with papers and maps. He looked up as Lucian entered the room. The Master was an older man. His long, black hair had a few streaks of silver sown in and his handsome face bore a short cropped goatee.
“Ah, my apprentice. How are you feeling?” Victor said.
“Like hammered shit.”
“I trust this task was not too difficult for you?”
“Other than fighting one of the Order’s best and almost getting myself killed, just another day in the life.”
“And you have the book?”
“After I killed Levi, I searched his shop to no avail. Of course he didn’t tell me where it was either.”
The Master stood and walked to grab a jug of wine from a shelf. He set two cups on the desk and begin to pour.
“Fret not, my son, your failure does not disappoint me,” Victor said, handing Lucian a cup. “It was, in fact, part of my design.”
“What are you saying?” Lucian reluctantly took the cup.
“Did you know that Levi had a son?” Victor said. “Levi was on track to locating the Garden of Stones. When you showed up, he gave the book to the boy and told him to find the Prophet.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“The Oracle has seen it.”
“Then I must go,” Lucian said. “I can intercept the book before the boy ever meets the Prophet.”
“No,” Victor said, then took a drink. “We will let them do the work for us in locating the Garden. I have another task in mind for you.”
Here we go again, Lucian thought.
“I need you to go to Kingsport and create chaos. A mass killing in public to drive fear and panic into the hearts of the people should do the trick.”
“You can’t be serious. Nothing like that has ever been heard of. It’s… madness.”
Victor smiled and walked behind his desk. Pulling a black silk bag from the drawer, he poured the contents into Lucian’s hands.
“These should suffice,” Victor said, the light from the stones shining bright in his eyes.
“If I do this, what about the Order?” Lucian asked, incredulous. “Not only do they protect the King; they also police the city. Between the King’s own guards and the Order, I’ll be killed on sight.”
“You will allow yourself to be captured,” Victor said, casually. “It is then that you demand a trial. The King’s Law cannot deny you that right.”
“So I’m to be hanged. Great.” Lucian drained the cup and sat it on the desk. He closed his hand around the stones and turned to leave.
Victor touched his arm. “No, my son. You have a greater purpose.”
“Oh, and what purpose is that?” Lucian asked, exhausted.
The master smiled. “You’re going to kill the King.”
Four
Arkin road into Hayfork three days after witnessing the murder of his father.
With straining eyes, Arkin located the inn on Main Street. Owned by his Aunt Clara, it catered to travelers venturing to the northern lands.
The warm, main room of the two-story inn was a welcome sight to Arkin. The air carried the aroma of lavender and lemons. A handful of people sat scattered about the room, minding their own business. On occasion, people would come in just for Clara’s cooking and to get out of the weather.
He remembered spending summer months here in visitation with his father. His cousin, Malik, would always greet him in the road and they would spend the next few weeks exploring and getting into trouble.
Clara walked from her office to the front desk. Her jaw dropped upon seeing Arkin standing at the door.
“Heavens, child, come sit by the fire and I’ll grab you some food and a hot tea.”
“Thank you, Aunt Clara. It’s good to see you.” Arkin forced a smile.
“When I get back, you can tell me what has you traveling here this time of year!” She hugged him and walked back into the kitchen.
As Arkin sat by the fire, he fought to wrap his mind around what had happened. The cold rain had helped numb his mind from the shock of it all, and he was thankful for it, but now that he had reached his destination, he was forced to come to terms with what he has seen. How would he be able to describe it?
I could have just kept riding, he thought.
On the second day of the trip, despair had gripped his mind. He had thought about curling into a ball and letting the cold night lull him into sleep. Maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t wake up.
“You must find the Prophet!” His father’s voice had cracked like thunder, snapping him awake and urging him back on the road. “Tell him the Garden of Stones is near!”
It was then that Arkin’s will to go on was resolved. Those words were the only thing in his life that he had to hold onto. He would honor his father’s last wish. He would find the Prophet. He was not going to lay down and die.
Clara returned and placed a hot bowl of beef stew on the table and handed him a cup of tea. “What’s wrong, Arkin?” She said noticing his vacant stare.