by Guy Antibes
Anchor took a deep breath. His emotions hadn’t abated. He sat down a few chairs away from her. “Things became… complicated. After I tried to save you in Everwet, I felt like such failure that I couldn’t face you. Why would you want to have anything to do with a man displaying such deplorable sword skills?”
“But you are Unca.”
“I was a stranger to you, then. I vowed that wouldn’t let that happen again and spent most of my time at South Keep learning a soldier’s trade.
“I’d advised your father for years, but the keep had an exceptional library of military history and added more theoretical knowledge to my practical skills, learned working with your father. I became a changed man. I eagerly sought your letters, but they ended and I knew that Lotto had come into your life and let things be. I didn’t know how my appearance would complicate things, so I re-dedicated my efforts to returning you to Foxhome. It’s all been for you, Princess.”
Tears welled up in Sallia’s eyes. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve been a man of mystery from the start. I began to fantasize that Unca would stand on one side and you’d stand on the other as Protectors to the Queen. I told you that, more than once. That won’t happen now will it?”
Anchor shook his head. “No, but both will stand on one side, if you will it. I do live to serve you.” Anchor pulled out the silken strip of cloth, now wrinkled, spotted with bloodstains, and tattered around the edges. “This accompanied me into battle yesterday. I still carry your token. Please don’t dismiss me.”
Sallia moved to the chair next to Anchor’s and put her hand over his. “How can I? I’ve worried constantly about you. Take your pick, Unca or Anchor. I’ve feared for the safety of you both. We all know what you’ve put into the alliance. All look up to you as their leader. I did then, and I do now. I must admit I’m overwhelmed by your confession. It makes mine so paltry, so inconsequential. You’ve changed so much.”
“So have you. Remember how I had to treat you in your bedroom to get you to come with me? Look at you now. I’ve seen flashes of the old you, but in the right places.”
Sallia nodded and produced a wistful smile. Anchor wished he knew what thought prompted the smile. “So who are you? Old Unca or the dashing and incredible Anchor?” She searched his eyes. “You are Unca. Now I can see him in you.”
“I am him, but I am more. I intend to change back after all of this is over. Shiro or Lotto are strong enough to reverse the spell, but I must continue in this guise until Histron is defeated and maybe longer until Daryaku has been taken care of, once and for all.”
“I believe you and know you are right in that. How many know about you?”
Anchor sighed. “An ever-increasing number of people. That is why I had to tell you, now. I didn’t want another revealing who I am. I have other secrets, but they will come out in due time. Lotto knows, which mean Restella might. No one really knows what does or doesn’t go through their link. Shiro, Duke Jellas, King Willom and the leaders of the Five Duchies. If someone uses Shiro’s stone, they might see it in his mind. Willow knew when she first saw me. Regetta finally figured it out, likely when I entered sodden from the morning rain.”
“I won’t talk to anyone about you, but Willow. I will let on that you have revealed your secret to me, if challenged.”
“One of my secrets.”
Sallia smiled and put her hand to his face. “One of your secrets, but this, I think is the most important.”
Anchor pursed his lips to control himself at her touch. “I hope so, Princess.”
She smiled and Anchor could see the sparkles of sunlight in her tear-filled eyes. “Sally. It will always be Sally.”
~~~~
The End of theBloodstone | Power of Youth
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The Story Concludes in Book Four of the Warstone Quartet -
Darkstone | An Evil Reborn
Please review this book wherever you bought it and then read the sample chapter of Darkstone that follows.
Darkstone | An Evil Reborn
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CHAPTER ONE
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VISHAN DARYAKU’S WIDE EYES followed the white marble staircase ascending into infinity with his father’s ceremonial throne at the very top. His eight-year-old mind told him that no person could ever climb all of the way up.
“Vish,” Sulm, his tutor, clapped his charge on his thin shoulder. “I want you to count all of the steps.”
“All one thousand of them?”
Sulm nodded. “Every one.”
How could he count ever do what Sulm asked? Vish narrowed his eyes. “Won’t my father be upset?”
Sulm softly cuffed Vish’s ear. “We wouldn’t be here if he was. Now go.”
Vish took a deep breath and would take one step at a time. He began to climb up the steep incline. Ten, fifty, one hundred, two hundred. His efforts echoed around the vast stone room. Every breath, step and grunt echoed in the vast emptiness.
He looked down at Sulm, now standing far below him. Vish continued until he arrived at the golden throne above. He had counted less than the thousand steps. How could that be? People called where his father lived The Palace of a Thousand Steps because of the throne, but there were only three hundred eighty-two.
He leaned against the golden throne and called to Sulm. “There are only three hundred eighty-two!”
Sulm beckoned him back down. “Be careful not to slip, Vish.”
When the boy reached the bottom he furrowed his brows. “There are supposed to be one thousand steps. Where are the rest?”
“There aren’t any.” Sulm said as he gently guided Vish out of the great throne room and they walked in silence, as they always did, in the palace proper. They strolled outside into the hot sun and sought the shade of palms as the pair made their way to Vish’s mother’s house. Father had eleven wives. Vish was the youngest of his mother’s children. Younger wives bore the Emperor younger children and were of relatively lower status. He was the twenty-second son with more already behind him.
Vish didn’t understand. “But, the Palace…”
“You have just seen the difference between truth and perspective. What is the truth?” Sulm said quietly.
“There aren’t one thousand steps.”
Sulm nodded. “That is quite correct. What is the perspective?”
“It’s a big lie,” Vish said as a flood of disappointment overcame him. “There are only three hundred and eighty-two steps, no matter what anyone says.”
“That’s right, will you tell your father that there aren’t a thousand?”
Vish shook his head. “My father knows and permits this lie. He would be angry if I contradicted him.”
Sulm ruffled Vish’s dark straight hair. “That is perspective. We must always know the truth, but we also must know what to do or not do with it.”
“I’m not very happy about perspective. Is it because my father has all power in Dakkor?”
Sulm pursed his lips and thought about his response. Vish wondered if Sulm were considering a truthful answer or one filled with perspective. “Yes, he has power, but perspective can be applied to the truth in many situations. Telling one of your twenty-eight sisters that they aren’t pretty is another exercise of utilizing perspective. Perspective is not just used to avert an angry response, but to keep someone else from feeling bad.”
Vish walked into his rooms with Sulm dutifully holding the door open for the boy. At his age, the sitting room held toys and books of learning. He wished it would stay that way, but he had observed how tutors and decor changed as one got older. He rolled the two concepts around in his head. They made him uncomfortable.
“Perspective is another word for lying, isn’t it?” Vish finally said what he wanted to say in the Throne Room.
“In many cases perspective is what drives us to lie, to dissemble, to do all manner of things, but in the case of the thousand steps, we don’t speak the truth and in that, perspective forces us to lie.”
Vish didn’t like what S
ulm taught him, but he recognized the harsh lesson that his tutor had just given him. Sulm might have exercised perspective and never told him, but this was better. Vish would have to think more on his lesson.
~
“My boy,” Princess Yalla said, “how were your lessons today?” All of the Emperor’s wives except for the first, the Empress, were called princesses. She stood in the kitchen overseeing her slaves make the evening meal for the six children and her in their house.
Vish took a huge bite out of a sweet roll. “Profound.”
She laughed. “That is a big word for a little boy.”
The roll tasted good and he might get a slap on the side of his head if he didn’t finish what he had bitten off, so they both waited. “I learned about perspective today. Sulm had me count the Thousand Steps.”
“So you know there are less than four hundred of them. Symbolism is a great power and One Thousand sounds more important than four hundred.” She looked back and gave an instruction to the woman seasoning some kind of little birds. Vish didn’t know the birds’ name, but he liked their taste.
“Three hundred and eighty-two. Sulm told me that no one is supposed to say it’s only that. He called the practice ‘perspective’.”
Yalla turned from her instructions and widened her eyes for emphasis. “That is a profound lesson. What have you learned?”
“That I need to use more perspective, mother.” He took another big bite and left the kitchen when she returned to her servants.
He walked slowly back to his room and took out the other sweet roll that he had hidden from his mother. She didn’t seem bothered that it was all a big lie. He knew enough to recognize that. Vish lay down on his bed and dug into his second sweet roll and looked at the painted ceiling of a blue sky and palm fronds extending out from the corners. The picture always had enchanted him, but today all he noticed was the flat ceiling and colored paints covering the wall. Perspective. Sulm’s concept of perspective had taken something from him, but he didn’t quite know what. Excitement? Imagination? How he had looked at the world around him?
Sulm had spoiled him somehow. Vish didn’t think he would look at what went on around him in the same way. He remembered the times his mother or his nursemaid had cuffed him for the times he had said something naughty to his sisters or when he complained to his mother. He had no problem spouting out the truth as he saw it, but now he realized that perspective—knowledge of how his words might be taken—might have averted a slap or two.
He resolved that he didn’t like perspective, but he’d need to learn to use it. Sulm was right in teaching him about the steps.
Vish woke to sound of the patter of the raindrops on the stone paths outside his open window. He got up and pulled back the heavy white window screens. He always liked the patterns that ironworkers had twisted and turned into the screens. The silk panels that allowed him privacy were wet and hung limply from the frame.
He stuck his head out of the house. He closed his eyes and let the warm rain make little snakes of his dark hair and cooled off his face. Vish didn’t need any perspective here. Rain could be cold or warm, but it always, always, came out wet.
Sulm had taken away the comfort of certainty earlier in the day. At some time his mother would no longer allow him to snuggle up to her as she sat talking to the other wives and the rare visitor. He’d seen it before with older sisters.
Why did life have to change? He wished he could freeze everything in its place like the colder north of Serytar where the blond people lived. North of Dakkor, Serytar was home to the Moonstone. The Duke and Duchess of Bomai kept it close. Sulm had taught him that they could link their minds. If someone could look into another’s thoughts would they see the truth or see perspective? Perhaps both? He didn’t see any use for such a magical device and would never want to be linked to anyone who could see into his mind. He didn’t think he could hide thinking about the truth from anyone. Perhaps the Duke and Duchess were cursed by having to possess the Moonstone? Vish nodded and concluded that must be the case.
The thoughts tired him and Vish yawned. The storm had passed and only the diminishing dripping of water remained of all that moisture. He returned the window screens to their proper place and went to bed.
~
“Wake up, Vish. We have much to go over today,” Sulm said, as the tutor gently shook Vish’s shoulder. “History, ancient history. We have stories to learn this morning and later we will go over number calculations.”
Vish liked history, but numbers? Not so much. He rose from his bed and went into the washing room where he performed his morning ablutions while Sulm fussed with the wall of his sitting room that served as the classroom.
“We will talk about the four Warstones. Sit at your desk and write out notes,” Sulm said.
Vish’s eyebrows rose. “I thought about the Moonstone last week,” he said as he took his place and pulled out paper and a charcoal stick.
“You did?”
Vish had no desire to share his thoughts about perspective since he really hadn’t become comfortable with the concept. “It is far to the North in Serytar. The Duke of Bomai is a magician and uses the stone to link his mind to his wife, the Duchess. I think they have a hard time hiding the truth from each other. Between them, they can’t use much perspective.”
Sulm laughed. “Good, excellent in fact. You have grasped the purpose of our walk in the Court. I think you are correct. The husband and wife can’t hold any secrets from each other. I think it would be a curse, myself.” Sulm laughed again. “The stones all have legendary powers given to them by the Great Emperor who ruled the world from Ayrtan.”
Vish had to laugh. “There’s nothing over there. Barely any plants and filled with savages.”
“Barely any savages, either. That’s because of the curse.”
A curse? Vish didn’t believe his teacher. This might just be another lesson in perspective, so he’d go along. “What curse?”
“We will get to it as we go. All four of the stones had one special power. The holders of the stones could communicate, wherever they were, with the other stones.”
Vish sat up straighter at his desk. “Anywhere in the world?”
Sulm nodded, smiling. “Anywhere.”
That might be fun, thought Vish, but then he just as quickly realized that his mother would always be able to find his location. He shivered in the warm room. “What about the other powers?”
“The Moonstone allows the holder to link permanently with another. Legend has it that there was a general and an administrator that ruled Dakkor for the Great Emperor. They always fought, so the stone linked them together. Now, it is said that the holder of the Moonstone, the Duke of Bomai traditionally links with his wife and the stone enhances their physical powers as well.” Sulm shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s true. That’s all anyone knows. The dukes of Bomai don’t tell others what powers the Moonstone has.”
“So next is the Bloodstone in Besseth?”
Sulm smiled and patted Vish on the head—an always-unwelcome familiarity. “The Bloodstone can be allegedly used to give the owner youth if that owner has Affinity. It fell into the hands of the ruler of the Red Kingdom and still denotes the royal line. However centuries ago, one of their kings kept his youth for much too long and became such a bad ruler that he lost his head. Alas, the Bloodstone did not have the power to heal. Ever since then, the king of the Red Kingdom, traditionally, does not have a single shred of power.”
“That’s the only two I know of,” Vish said.
“There are four, remember? The third was lost long ago on the isles of Roppon. It was said to be a truth stone created because, even back then, Ropponis did not trust each other. An emperor embarrassed himself by forgetting that the truth telling went both ways, since the Sunstone had to be held by both parties in order to work. The emperor became enraged and either hid or destroyed the stone.” Sulm began to pull an old book from Vish’s bookshelf and opened it to a certain pag
e.
“The last stone ruled them all. The Purestone, it was called. It enhanced the magical power of the Great Emperor. For some untold reason, the three other stone holders waged a war against the Great Emperor. Its great cities were destroyed and the land laid to waste.”
Sulm looked down at the book and read directly from it. “This old book describes the legend.”
The winds howled and desolation covered the land. Rock burned and the soil turned to blood. The Great Emperor hid deep in the caverns beneath his vast palace and pulled all of the power of the nexus in Ayrtan into the Purestone. The storms scoured the surface of the land as the Purestone glittered and coruscated and pulsed. The power grew and grew and grew. The Great Emperor grinned in the bright light, but a calamity of massive proportion took him. The power imploded into the Purestone and it became dark and dangerous. The stone grabbed part of the Great Emperor’s soul, enough to kill the man. Then, nothing. The three other stone-holders descended warily into the depths of the basements to find a desiccated body clutching the dark gem.
Sulm shivered and closed the book. “They took him to our continent of Zarron and supposedly buried him with the stone somewhere to the north of here in Dakkor. People have looked for the Great Emperor’s tomb, but none have found it. The Darkstone may still have great power, but none would want it. This story was written by an author who exercised his own version of perspective. Historical documents are like that; often filled with more perspective than truth. We do know some truths. The emperor died, because he isn’t alive today. Ayrtan was cursed. It is a fact that there is no magical power on the entire continent. We don’t really know if the emperor was buried in Dakkor. No one has found the tomb after all of this time.
“Other legends abound. One of them is if all of the stones came together again the Darkstone would release all power and the soul of the Great Emperor would finally be released into the Great Beyond.”
Vish laughed. “That would be some kind of trick.”
