by Stephen Wolf
Now shards of broken glass littered the sandy walkway, with scattered stones as well. The objects dug into his feet and set him off-balance. His arms floated out to his sides to keep himself from falling. The old man in the center of the room didn’t acknowledge his struggle at all, and Gabrion didn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing any complaints.
The path wriggled along the outer wall again and over to the right side of the room, where it swept around and back. As he went, the broken pieces of glass were fewer, and it was easier going. For a few steps, anyway. Then he placed one foot down and it sank. His foot touched a pool of water underneath the layer of sand. He noticed that he could stand for a moment before sinking in, so he took quick steps along the surface, practically jogging forward until the ground hardened again to a single layer of soft but firm sand. A few steps later, he dropped to his knees before the old man and waited.
They stared at each other for a few long minutes while Gabrion took in the shiny, bald pate, the gray eyes enfolded with countless wrinkles, and the fingers that kept tapping together as if expecting something.
At long last, the old man opened his mouth and asked, “Well, did you come all this way for some purpose, or did you just want to stare at me for a while?”
Gabrion struggled not to laugh. “I only wanted to thank you for your hospitality in your village and to alert you to the prospect of war that is brewing to the west.”
The old man drew in a deep breath and then poured out two cups of cold tea, passing one along to the warrior. “You notified my nephew of both things already. Yet you’re here, interrupting my meditation anyway.”
“I’m sorry. I just needed to tell you in person.”
The old man scrutinized him carefully. “Yes, yes, I can see that.” He sipped the tea, then reached over, plucked up a pinch of sand, and added it to his cup, swirling it and drinking again. “I don’t generally see outsiders. They bring such trouble with them. And you’re no different, mind. Tidings of war, indeed.”
“But it’s true,” Gabrion said defensively. “They sacked my vill—”
“To the west,” the elder interrupted, “is a town called Warringer, so named because it is the harbinger of war to us in the central expanses and to the east. When war erupts to the west, Warringer lets us know. What need have I of your news?”
Gabrion’s eyes fell to the floor. “I wished to save your town from the same fate as mine, that’s all.” He stood up and turned to leave. “Forgive my intrusion.”
“Now, now, don’t get all uppity and go just yet.” The elder waved for the warrior to sit and finish his tea. “I haven’t known many visitors who wished to see me who didn’t barge in or sneak in or bribe their way in. No, you just showed persistence, always respectful and optimistic that you would be allowed in to see me at some point.
“And then once you were in my door, you saw the path laid out before you, and instead of tromping your way directly to me, you took the winding path out of respect and approached me properly, all without a word of complaint.” He tipped his cup in Gabrion’s direction. “Too long has it been since someone showed such respect, and I thank you for it.”
Gabrion sipped his tea and smiled, but before he could say anything, the old man spoke again. “Yes, you walked the paths of persistence, of patience, and of pain. It was well that you did so, for those are important roads to travel.”
The old man moved the small table off to the side and lifted up a stick that was underneath. He drew a diagonal line in the sand between them. “The path of persistence is like the upward side of a triangle. It is supportive and strong and gives form and shape to the rest, yet on its own, it just tumbles and falls. Rash action and blind rushing eventually fail in the end.”
He drew a connecting diagonal line downward. “The path of pain is a part of life, whatever your vocation. A warrior takes injuries in battle. A child faces the eventual loss of his parents. A farmer sees the end of growth, where he must rip from the soil all of his hard work. Every birth requires tremendous pain to bring new life. And all of our choices have consequences of their own, to varying degrees.”
He then drew a third line at the base. “The path of patience, upon which the other two rest. It is the foundation of rational thought and process, of finding a balance between when to rush ahead and when to face the agony. Without it, the other two slide and fall in time, collapsing in on themselves.” He tapped the center of the triangle and looked deeply into Gabrion’s face, studying him. “Your hand, in here.”
Gabrion tentatively reached his hand into the triangle the man had drawn on the surface of the sand. He pushed his fingers inside, surprised to find a somewhat milky texture. Down his hand went until it stopped, brushing against a solid surface. Yet as he sat there, the sand around his wrist hardened, and he was trapped. “What?”
“Patience, remember.” The old man poured himself another cup of tea and sipped it slowly, savoring the flavor. “What do you know of the Forgotten Tribe?”
“Not much,” Gabrion admitted, sitting awkwardly with his hand stuck in the ground. “Dariak mentioned its name, nothing more.”
“Have him tell you what he knows, then. But you should know this much: generations ago a man and a woman met and fell in love. They had grand wishes for the future to create a world together. But they fought, and they parted, and thus were born the kingdoms of Hathreneir and Kallisor. They never birthed the great nation they once desired, and therefore the people of that single nation never lived. It would have been a people in a land borne of love, not war. But instead, their love was forgotten, and so was its offspring. Hence, the Forgotten Tribe.”
“So you’re saying that the reason we’re always at war with the Hathrens is because those two lost their way?” Gabrion asked.
“Indeed, and wasn’t the War of the Colossus intended as a means of uniting the two kingdoms under one ruler?”
Gabrion flexed his back to reduce the knot that was forming from hunching over. “Then the Red Jade entered and ruined it for everyone again.”
“Perhaps,” the old man said cryptically. “Or perhaps its work was enacted at the wrong time or in the wrong way. Or the loathing of man was the greater force still. After all, it was our king’s father who pressed his every advantage in that war.” He paused for a moment. “Now, sit up.”
Gabrion did so, pulling his hand from the triangle, clutching a glass-like object. He knew immediately what it was but didn’t understand its appearance.
“Over these past days, young warrior, I have felt the vibrations of the jades in your party’s possession, and I have wondered if I dared relinquish this one to your group or wait until you return for it later. It is likely, though, that your mage friend would have felt the resonances soon, so rather than turn it over to him, I hereby give this to you.”
“I—” he started, swallowing hard. “But I don’t want it. It’s magic.”
The old man smiled sagely. “Magic is a part of our world, Gabrion. To deny it is to deny your strength or the air we breathe. Embrace it, and you will achieve your desires.”
“But, the king. He used magic illegally in the war. It cost us everything. We’re all seen as deceitful, even among ourselves, I find.”
“And the Hathrens? Do you not also feel they have acted wrongly in the past?”
“But that doesn’t make it right for us to use this power either.” He held the jade out toward the old man. “I don’t know why you offer this to me.”
The old man flexed his hands and, instead of reclaiming the jade, reached again for his tea. “I offer it because I can feel the flow of energy like any proper mage. Ah yes,” he exclaimed at Gabrion’s raised eyebrows. “I was a mage in our king’s employ many years ago, when he outwardly upheld laws that denied my skills. Yet, secretly we worked to assist him, to give him an edge so that he could one day be victorious. I can no longer covet a secre
t power.”
He glanced down at Gabrion’s hand. “The jade calls to its brethren, seeking unification, and so I turn this over to you, rather than your friend, because I believe in your nature. I believe that you have the inner strength to reach the peace we have all sought for so long. Your own quest is based on that of love, on that one emotion that was meant to bind us all together. I feel that it is you who could help to restore the Forgotten Tribe and set us all upon the righteous path.”
Gabrion’s heart raced. “Me? But I’m just a novice at everything.”
“Not of your heart, child. That, you know well.” The old man leaned forward. “You may have been walking around town these past days, learning what you can, but as the elder here, I have those who report to me as well. And I know your plight, as well as the training your companions have undertaken in our midst. You would do well to set aside your reservations against magic and learn to work with it rather than deny it.” He leaned back, seeing the conflict in Gabrion’s expression. “Where the king of old failed and showed treachery was in hiding his magical strength and using it when unexpected. Show yours openly, if this troubles you, and your foes will have the opportunity to face you or not—by their choice.”
The young warrior let out a deep sigh. “So you want the jade pieces to come together.”
“I believe it is inevitable, and so I send this one with you to perhaps have an impact on where its energies will be directed, nothing more. Now, do you notice its color and its shape? Yes, feel that edge there. Is it sharp?”
Gabrion turned the jade over and saw that it was mostly white, with a hint of beige deep inside. He tested the edge, and it sliced his thumb easily. “Sharp indeed,” he said, looking up, then sucked on his thumb to stop the bleeding.
“Yes, but notice now what just happened.” The man gestured toward the jade.
When Gabrion looked, the blood on it was gone. “What?” He felt the crystal grow slightly warmer, as if trying to match the temperature of his hand. The outer edge took on a coarse, sandy texture, which he tried brushing off, but it reappeared. “I don’t understand.”
“The jade has accepted your blood. Now it is attuned to you and will always be. This magic is old magic, and you will find a few oddities as you carry it with you, as I have done these past twenty years.” He stared down at the jade, almost sadly, as if his only child were about to leave home forever. “That sandy exterior will always be so, no matter how much you wipe it clean. It will also grant you some power when you call to it, and perhaps your friend can assist you with that. And, this is a part that I entrust to you, which you should keep within unless you feel the need to share it: the blood rite is vital for its use. It is why many mages have failed to tap into the power of the crystal. But also, your children will be attuned to this shard, because it now carries your blood.”
“Then that is why Dariak can access the other pieces so easily,” Gabrion surmised. “I suppose I will have to at least tell him I have this.”
“Well, yes, though if he is paying attention, the shards he carries will also tell him. He already has sensed that the jades in his possession are reacting oddly here, but I don’t know that he has determined why.”
“I see.”
“Now, the hour grows late, Gabrion, so just two more things before you run along. First, you will find that you cannot break that shard any smaller than it is. You see, these pieces are protected by the old magic, and no amount of force will crush them. And, though your shard lets off sand, its power is actually that of glass, which is a form of sand, if you think about it. Just keep that in mind as you commune with it, and it will help you to determine its properties.”
“Thank you, elder, for everything. You’ve given me much to consider.”
“Don’t forget the triangle either, young one. Perseverance will only get you so far, and every leap in that regard will have a balancing pain, but patience will hold you together.”
“Time heals all?” Gabrion ventured.
“Of a sort,” the old man agreed. “Now go on, and join your companions. Oh, and don’t bother with the long way. I’ve rather had enough time with you today.” He smirked.
Chapter 19
Campsite
Gabrion left the elder’s house with the jade piece in his pocket, next to Mira’s engagement ring. He felt it appropriate they should be together, as perhaps the jade would help him find her. He still wasn’t certain he wanted to harness its power, but the way the elder had explained it to him, it sounded like if he was going to complete his mission, then he didn’t have much choice.
“There you are! Finally,” called Kitalla, fully suited up and jogging toward him. “Come on, we have to hurry! That group we were pursuing to Pindington has left and is on its way west. We have to intercept them before they go beyond our reach.”
It really did appear that the jade shards were trying to reunite. Perhaps the elder had the proper handle on things after all. Gabrion followed Kitalla back to the healer’s abode and claimed the rest of his belongings, putting on his chain mail for the first time since arriving. He fastened the scabbard around his waist and carried his shield on his arm until he could secure it to his horse’s saddle.
Dariak knocked on his door. “We must hurry, Gabrion. Are you ready?”
“Let’s go,” he agreed, then ran off to thank the healer for all her help. He met the others outside and mounted his horse.
“Why are these things going berserk?” Dariak asked aloud, clutching two of his pockets, where his pieces of jade were calling out to the one in Gabrion’s possession.
“Move out!” Kitalla called, snapping her reins, unwilling to wait any longer. Dariak groaned and hurried along after, followed closely by Gabrion.
“There’s word they are heading west along the river up north,” she called back to them, “so let’s get there quickly.” Her mare responded to her urgings by racing fast.
It took them over two hours to reach the riverbank, and along the way they avoided contact with a gaggle of gleese, large white birds with vicious tempers and a loud quack that could stun an enemy temporarily. They weren’t nearly the same type of threat as the lupinoes, but even a large group of gleese could be overpowering.
The river came into view, and Kitalla swept to the right, heading east, hoping to intercept the fighters. Only Dariak had seen them in action back at the Rooster’s Bane, but he didn’t think they would pose much of a threat after the things his trio had already accomplished along its journey. Another hour of travel brought them into a deep-orange evening, with the sky changing so completely they wondered if the whole country was afire. Kitalla kept her eyes focused sharply, and she spotted smoke off to the southeast. It didn’t take them long to get there.
The three of them rode in like kings, stopping just before trampling the enemy’s blankets and campfire. Dariak looked around eagerly and nodded. This was the band chasing after Randler. He recognized two of them easily enough, having fought them up close in the tavern. “Ho there!” he called out, alerting them needlessly. His group’s approach hadn’t been very quiet.
“What bother is this?” one of them asked, drawing his short sword and waving his hand for his friends to do the same. “Can’t a bunch of campers be left to their own?”
“Not if they hunt a friend of mine,” Dariak announced, jumping from his horse and enacting the Shield of Delminor. He wanted to also summon the watery shield, but there wasn’t enough time to commune with the newer shard.
“Eh, it’s you again?” The man spat at the ground as another sized up the mage.
“Him. Definitely.” The rogue pounded his fists together, clearly angry about the missed capture in Kaison. “Ready, boys?”
“Not so fast,” Kitalla interrupted. “You’re way outmatched, so stand down.” When they hesitated, she jumped off her horse and loosed two daggers as she landed, planting them at the f
eet of the two speakers. “Touch those and the next ones end up in your skulls,” she promised with such aplomb they didn’t doubt her.
“What business ‘ave you with us?” asked the leader. “Somethin’ important, definitely. I can see that.”
“Two things,” Dariak announced. “Hand over that crystal you have, and stop your other pursuit.”
This didn’t have the desired effect, as they both started laughing. So far the other three hadn’t budged from their places by the fire, but Gabrion kept an eye on them.
“On the first,” the leader responded, “we don’t have it now. It’s back in Pindington, where we took it from. As for the other, we’re not giving up a bounty of five hundred thousand.”
“You might if you die,” Dariak threatened.
Kitalla stepped forward, spinning one dagger around her finger as she went. “Pindington, you say. Whereabouts?”
“Won’t help you none.”
She launched the dagger, which grazed his temple and slashed off some of his grizzled hair. “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you. Where?”
The man stepped back, fear lighting his eyes. “You’ll never be able to get it,” he warned.
Kitalla stalked closer, scowling, but Gabrion’s voice called out, “To arms!”
Spinning around, Kitalla saw shapes closing in. Apparently, the monsters in the area had also sensed the campfire and were on their way for a meal. The three rogues at the campfire jumped to their feet, weapons in hand, turning toward the new threat and ignoring the three human intruders.