by Matt Moss
“Kind of like barging in here, unannounced?” Paul chided.
Arkin dropped his head, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, son. Just think about what you do before you do it.” Paul motioned him to a chair. “I was going to call for you shortly anyways.”
The prophet sat down in his chair and sighed.
“I’m getting old, Arkin, and old men should learn when to step down. This life is too short, and I’ll be damned if I don’t spend the remainder of my time living in peace,” Paul swore.
That was the first time Arkin ever heard his grandfather curse.
“Torin and I will be leaving for the capital. Some events have taken place recently, and King George seeks our council.”
Torin slammed the letter on the desk and stormed out of the room.
The Prophet shook his head, staring at the big man as he left.
“I fear for the future, son, for the good people that live right.” He looked at Arkin. “I fear for you.”
“What are you talking about, Grandpa?” Arkin stood. “What’s going on?”
Paul sat forward, leaning on his desk. “There have been prophecies of the end times. We have been told to watch for the signs — famine, war, natural disasters, plague and disease.” Paul pulled the Path of Man from the drawer and sat it on the desk. “Well, I have seen these all and have been watching for some time.” Paul paused, meeting Arkin’s gaze. “I believe we are living in the last days.”
Arkin, finding no words, sat in numb disbelief.
“I know it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Paul said. “We just met, and now I bear this news upon you. For that, I am sorry.”
“Why didn’t my father tell me any of this?” Arkin asked.
“He wanted a better life for you,” Paul said, looking away. “A better life than he had.”
Arkin shook his head in disbelief. “I feel like I’m lost and don’t know anything,” he said. “Everything I’ve ever known or believed is a lie.”
“Again, I’m sorry you’ve been thrown into all this, to meet me this way.” Paul said, then pushed the book to Arkin. “The answers you seek are in this book.” Paul opened it to reveal a list of names inside the cover. “This is our history, passed down and recorded from generation to generation. The blood in your veins is the same blood that birthed kings, emperors, prophets, and poets.” Paul proudly smiled at Arkin. “Famous heroes in story and song and all their triumphant battles come from our lineage.”
Arkin reverently took the book and looked over the names.
“Garron the Brave?” he asked. “From the children stories?”
“The same,” Paul said. “My great, great grandfather.”
“I can’t believe it,” Arkin said then sat, overwhelmed. “Why wouldn’t Father tell me this?”
“With the good comes the bad, son. There is plenty of sorrow and despair in that book, believe me.” Paul cast his head down. “I have written my fair share and your father has as well. As will you.”
Paul closed the book, reaching for Arkin’s hand.
“I need you to keep this for me while I’m gone,” Paul said, placing Arkin’s hand on top. “Read it, learn from it, and finish your father’s work in locating the Garden of Stones. I feel that may be the only hope in stopping the evil forces working in the world.”
“I will,” Arkin promised, “but what if I can’t find the Garden?”
“Have faith, Arkin, and hope for the best. It’s the most any of us can do.”
Arkin clutched the book to his chest. “I will find it,” he proclaimed.
“I do not doubt that,” Paul said and moved to embrace him. “I’m proud of you, Arkin. I’m proud of the man that you are. And I love you.”
“I love you too, Grandpa. How long will you be gone?” Arkin said, stepping back.
“Eight to ten days I suppose.”
“When will you be leaving?”
Torin hurried back into the room carrying sacks of supplies. Arkin also noticed his attire, prepared for battle.
“Right now,” Paul said. “Run along now, son, I have to gather my things.”
Arkin hugged him again and moved to leave.
“Arkin,” Paul said, stopping him in the doorway.
Turning, Arkin looked back.
“Keep the Faith,” the Prophet said with a grin.
Arkin smiled and left.
With Arkin gone, Torin began packing Paul’s belongings. “So, you entrust the most important book in the world to an eighteen-year old boy?” he said, head cocked to the side.
“Can you think of anyone better?” Paul asked.
Torin thought for a minute, then smiled. “No, no I can’t.”
The two made busy preparing to leave, gathering all the supplies they would need for the trip.
“The letter didn’t say a whole lot,” Torin said.
“That’s one thing that bothers me,” Paul said. “The other, and more disturbing fact, is the amount of destruction George vaguely described. Only a stone could create so much devastation.”
“It’s Lucian,” Torin said. “A stone hasn’t been used since the Rebellion, then all of a sudden, he uses one to kill Levi. Now this, it has to be him.”
“A likely choice,” Paul said. “But we haven’t seen or heard about him in years.”
“You think he’s in league with the Dark Society?” Torin suggested. “Last I heard, he was a renegade mercenary.”
“I don’t know,” Paul said. “I suppose we’ll find out who the terrorist is when we get there, and hopefully, why he did it.”
Arkin sat in the Prophet’s room, reading by candlelight. A full moon lit the night sky, and the two most important men in his life had left hours ago. His eyes burned from reading and his head ached.
He felt alone. Again.
No, he thought. Not again.
He pushed his self-pity aside and buried himself in the book.
Many of the early pages were illegible due to the wear over the years. Some he couldn’t make out due to sloppy handwriting. A page caught his eye — detailed sketches of a city.
He remembered Paul telling him about the lost city of Azulis, wondering if this was the same place.
It was located by the ocean, according to the sketch, on a high rock surface. Beneath it, deep down in the earth, was a rock. It had been colored yellow and red with lines radiating out, reaching up to the city.
A thought crossed his mind — find the lost city, find the Garden of Stones. A far cry, but it was something to start from. Intrigued by the search, he dug more.
The next page contained a list of symbols and numerical equations that he was not familiar with. The next few pages were blank, which he found odd, then a lone page, full of riddles.
“Look down, deep within, to find that which lie in wait,” Arkin said, reading to himself. “But beware that which the darkness holds. Only the pure dare to caress the power, lest destruction be brought upon his head, and he be cursed for eternity.”
None of it made sense. He abandoned the riddles and vague passages after his head began to hurt too bad.
Standing, he rubbed his face then stretched. Yawning, he stepped outside to get some fresh air. After a brief walk, the night invigorated him, and he caught his second wind.
He found himself alone, standing in front of the Gauntlet. As he stood in front of stage three, he decided that he would finish his run. He looked at Cliffhanger ladder — the obstacle Cain never passed.
“If you fall in the water, you’ll catch a cold in this weather,” Lyla said walking up behind him. “Then I’ll have to take care of you.”
He turned in surprise. “That wouldn’t be so bad. I might even fall on purpose.”
“Oh, Mr. Confidence,” she teased. “I like that.”
“I’m working on it,” he said.
“Just don’t go and turn arrogant like most men,” she said. “I admire your humility.”
“So,” Arkin said shu
ffling his feet, “what are you doing out here this late?”
“I’m more of a night person,” she stated. “I feel alive when I know the rest of the world is sleeping.”
Her hair glowed in the moonlight, blowing softly in the night breeze. “What are you doing out here?” she asked.
He turned back to the Gauntlet. “I was thinking about finishing my run.”
“I saw you earlier, before you ran off. I was cheering for you,” she said.
“You were?”
“Yea, you were great!” she said, touching his arm.
He smiled and looked at the ground. “Thanks.”
“It’s such a nice night. Walk with me,” Lyla said and hooked her arm in his. “You can run some other time.”
Her forwardness caught him off guard. When did she become so comfortable around him?
They walked for a bit in silence.
She cast a spell, and he was afraid that if he spoke, he would break it.
She breathed deep, inhaling the cool spring air. “I feel more alive here than I ever have,” she said, breaking the silence. “I’m learning so much every day.”
That made him recall his recent conversation with Paul about the end times and Paul’s belief that they were in it. “I know what you mean,” he said sorely.
“Why do you have that troubled look on your face then?” she asked.
“It’s just... I want you to be happy. I want to protect you.”
“Protect me?” she said, stopping him. “From what?”
“Something my grandfather said earlier keeps bothering me.”
She stepped in front of him. “What’s going on?”
“He believes that we are living in the last days,” Arkin said. “He talked of prophecies, signs, things like that.”
“Well,” she said, “not much we can do about that, is there?”
“Actually, he said if we find the Garden of Stones, there might be. There are clues to finding it in the Path of Man.»
She brushed the hair from her face. “Alright then. Given that is true, I suppose you will need someone who is smart, friendly, and up for a challenge to help you.” She grabbed his arm to resume the walk. “Not to mention attractive.” She giggled. “I wonder where you’ll find someone like that?”
He choked. “Are you saying you’ll help me?” he said, playing it off.
“Are you saying I’m attractive?” she asked and giggled at his blushing face. “Of course! You’ve already saved me once, and you helped bring me here. It’s the least I could do.”
They walked through an orchard on the outskirts of one of the gardens, the trees not yet bearing fruit.
“You’re taking the whole ‘end of the world’ thing pretty well,” Arkin said.
She scoffed. “People have talked about the end of the world since the beginning of the world. Everyone dies. It’s how we live that matters.”
Arkin smiled, finding wisdom in her words. He vowed to himself then and there that with everything that had happened, or would happen, he would never fall into despair again.
“How’s training going?” Arkin asked.
“Very well,” she replied. “Master Arze is a genius. He said that I show great potential. He’s odd though.”
“How’s that?”
“He doesn’t like the sight of blood,” she said. “Almost makes him sick. Makes you wonder why he chose to be a doctor.”
“I suppose because he’s good at it,” Arkin said. “And he probably wants to help people.”
“I suppose so,” she said looking down.
Arkin looked at her. “He’s right, you know.”
“About what?” she asked.
“About you being great,” he said then looked ahead as he slid his hand into hers.
Looking at him, she smiled, gently caressing her hand around his.
Everything was right in the world. As the first rays of sun began to light a new day, they said goodnight and made their way to their rooms.
Seventeen
The King sat, stone like, in his private quarters. If he had stood to look out the window, he would have seen the evening sun begin to fade, the line of people waiting for their food, and the men working in the market, tearing the burnt remains down. But he did not move. His bloodshot eyes sunk inside his face which was lined with stress and fatigue.
Since the attack six days ago, he was lucky to get three to four hours of sleep each night. Normally, his room was a place where he could escape the world and all its madness. A place of peace.
He would delight in the solitude and relax with a few cups of wine. Now he couldn’t escape the outside world.
Even the wine lost its flavor.
A knock at the door drew his gaze. Paul opened it and stepped in.
“Where’s the guard?” George asked with a hoarse voice.
“I told him I knew the way,” Paul said as he shut the door. “How are you, old friend?”
“How do I look?”
Paul didn’t reply.
“Sit,” George said, motioning to a chair.
Sitting, Paul looked around the room. A wide variety of books rested on exquisite wooden shelves. Ornaments and sculptures were scattered around the room, the walls holding ornate paintings of nature scenes.
“The place hasn’t changed much,” Paul noted. “I remember the last time we were here.” He chuckled. “We had a little too much to drink before your wedding.”
George smiled. “Almost knocked High Priest John down during our vows I was so drunk!” The King laughed. “Now they’re both dead,” he said, trailing off.
His hand shook as he reached for his wine. It dribbled down his chin as he drained the cup, set it down, and wiped his face.
“I hear your son is now dead as well,” George said.
Paul looked down.
“Why must we outlive everyone we love?” George asked. “Thankfully, my wife fell sick before she could leave me an heir or else I might have to watch him die too.”
“These are dark times,” Paul said. It seemed like words a prophet would say.
“How could fate be so cruel to us?” George asked, his voice quivering. “Where was God when Elizabeth lay dying, choking on her own blood, stricken in our bed. Or your father,” he paused, meeting Paul’s gaze, remembering the fragile line. “Where was God for your son? Where was God for all the people who died here recently?” The King slammed his fist on the table and stood up.
Paul moved to speak, but found no words.
“Where was his mercy?!” George yelled as he sent a clay cup shattering to pieces against the wall. Tears streamed down his face.
“I do not know why God allows these things to happen,” Paul pleaded, standing. “But it is because I do not know that I find peace and reassurance that he is in control and has a plan for all of us. Even in dark times, I have faith that it is for the greater good.”
“I wish I had your faith my friend,” George sighed, wiping his face. “Unfortunately, life has given me a position where I must make decisions in the present. I don’t have the luxury of waiting on the greater good.”
The King walked about the room, collecting himself, before returning to his chair.
“The trial will begin tomorrow,” he said. “It must be swift, and we must lay blame on something, or someone, besides just him. Already I have heard rumors from the people talking about who is behind it all.”
“What are they saying?” Paul asked.
“Some say Dark Society. Others say it’s our enemies to the far east of the realm. Others say it’s one, or all, of the independent cities, banding together against the crown.” He paused. “I’ve even heard talk of the Order being behind it all.”
“That’s absurd!” Paul said, slamming his hands on the table.
“You know how people are,” George said. “They will want justice.”
“So, after you determine the man’s allegiance, you will give the people what? A war?” Paul noted with disapproval.
“What choice do I have?” George pleaded. “There is no other way.”
“There is always another choice,” Paul stated.
“Enlighten me then, please.”
“I don’t know all the answers,” Paul said with frustration. “Let’s get through the trial first, then we can sort it all out afterward.”
George met Paul’s gaze, then began to pace the room again.
“When found,” he said, then checked himself. “If found guilty, we will hold the execution on the same day as John’s funeral.”
“Seems a little over the top, don’t you think?” Paul said.
“We will forever remember the day,” the King said. “It will show our people and our enemies, that our resolve is strong, our justice, swift.”
“Has there been a replacement for John yet?” Paul asked.
George looked out the window, eyeing the church.
“No,” he said, “not yet. The Clergy should be arriving in a day or two for the funeral. While they are all convened here, they will vote on the next high priest.”
“You know you have the final say,” Paul reminded him.
“I know,” George said. “But I have decided to go along with whomever the Clergy decides.”
George sat back down then looked at Paul. The Prophet had half a grin on his face.
“Something amuse you?” the King asked in a flat tone.
“I see much of your father in you.”
“You speak like an old man,” George said. “You remember, we’re the same age.”
“I know,” Paul said. “Despite everything that’s going on, you’re handling it well.”
“At least one person thinks so.”
“I’m serious,” Paul said. “I knew your father well. Better than most actually. He was the one who fathered the idea of the Order, entrusting me to lead it. I see his strength in you. He would be proud.”
George cast his head down, a little choked up.
“Remember when we were thirteen,” Paul said rubbing his chin. “We told your father we were going camping overnight by the lake. On our way, we stopped by my uncle’s house and stole a jug of wine.” He chuckled. “We were drunk out of our minds. I’ll never forget sitting by the campfire and hearing your father’s voice behind us in the dark. ‘What do you boys think you are doing?’”