The Enchanted Emerald (The Enchanted Stones Book 1)

by Donald Craghead

  One instant he was charging down, the ground jolting his body with each out-of-control step, the next instant there was nothing. He found himself in mid-air; everything was silent as he began to somersault into a void. The pressure of his fall nearly tore Michael loose from his grasp. With a bone-jarring impact, his fall was over. Thomas drifted away from consciousness with the sound of the surf slapping the shore.

  Everett, Sarah, and Oliver began to retrace their route back to the edge of the cliff-face. They proceeded slowly, with caution in case the earth should disgorge more of its rubble their way.

  “God, you don’t think they’re under one of these boulders, do you?” asked Oliver.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know,” answered Everett.

  “Which way did they run?” inquired Sarah. “Can you find them with your magic, Everett? Can’t you sense them or something?”

  Everett’s head swung from one end of their grassy rest area to the other, amazed at the destruction. He shook his head from side to side. It was not clear whether he was answering Sarah, or was contemplating the power it must have taken Acantha to unleash this latest attack.

  “I don’t know, Sarah. I can’t reach Michael at all. I just don’t get anything in return. I don’t know if he is under one of those rocks, or if he is hurt somewhere. I just don’t know.”

  “Well, let’s look for them!” Sarah was nearing panic from the thought of losing Michael.

  “Don’t worry, Sarah, we’ll find them,” said Oliver as he moved to put a protective arm over her shoulders. “But it is beginning to get quite dark. In a matter of minutes we’ll lose all hope of finding them tonight.”

  “Well, let’s get to it,” called Everett as he moved carefully to the edge of the drop-off. Peering over the side he saw it was already too dark to even see the rocky beach at the bottom.

  “I wonder if there are any rocks left down there at all,” he murmured to himself.

  They searched well into the night, but there was no hope they would be able to find any trace of the missing pair in the darkness. If they were not careful they would get separated themselves. Eventually it became necessary to call a halt to the search until morning. With spirits low, they hunkered down around a meager fire to wait for first light.

  CHAPTER 17

  When dawn finally broke, Everett, Sarah, and Oliver had already been looking for Michael and Thomas for nearly an hour. The night’s rest was fitful at best, and they finally gave up trying to find sleep. They had searched around the larger boulders for any signs of clothing or human remains, hoping they would find none. After completing an exhaustive search of the surrounding area, they began looking for a way down to the shoreline, some one hundred feet below them. Unfortunately, they were searching toward the north; the route Thomas had chosen was toward the south.

  “Do you sense anything yet, Everett?” asked Oliver. “If I did, I would lead you straight to them!” snapped Everett. “I’m sorry, that’s not fair of me. I know we are all concerned.” Sarah touched his arm tenderly, trying her best to console him, even though she was consumed with fears of her own.

  “We understand, Everett. We’re all on edge right now. We’ll just have to keep looking.”

  * * * * * Nearly a half mile to the south, Thomas was just beginning to stir. He was lying face down upon the sand, in a small cove that had been hidden from above. There was a sharp pain in his chest, and he feared he had broken ribs from the fall he had suffered the night before.

  Carefully he rolled to his side to take inventory of what might still be functioning. As he slowly and painfully gained a sitting position, he saw his hunting bow broken into three pieces, lying in the sand where he had just been.

  “Damn,” he cursed, silently, “I wish it had been my ribs.” Finding the rest of his body in an unbroken -- if somewhat painful – state, he began to remember the events leading up to the fall.

  “Michael,” he said weakly, as he remembered carrying him from the magical avalanche, and then the fall with Michael still over his shoulder. Even as he was remembering, he was turning to look for his friend. He saw Michael’s unmoving form a mere ten feet behind him. Slowly, hampered by a myriad of small and large aches and pains, Thomas staggered to his feet and limped over to where Michael sprawled on the sand. As he kneeled down next to him, Thomas could see Michael’s face was crusted with dried blood. Whether it came from the rock that had struck him, or from the fall, Thomas could not tell.

  Since his own clothing was made entirely from leather, Thomas tore a strip of cloth from Michael’s shirt. This he took to where the waves were gently rolling to shore. He returned to Michael’s side with the wet cloth and began cleaning the dried blood from his face. Hopefully he would be able to see the extent of the damage once the crusty brown mess was removed. What he would do if the damage was extensive was beyond concern at the moment.

  Michael began to groan in pain as the cold water began to bring him back to his senses. He continually tried to push Thomas’ hand away as his friend was cleaning his face. When he finally began struggling to a sitting position, Thomas put one of his massive arms gently behind him to help, should weakness prove to be too much for Michael’s efforts.

  “Do you enjoy inflicting pain on helpless people,” asked Michael, with a scowl.

  “Huh?” responded Thomas.

  “Salt water. You were rubbing salt water into what feels like a

  hundred cuts on my face. Stung like hell!” grumbled Michael. Thomas grinned through his sand-encrusted beard as he sat upon his haunches. “Well, at least it worked. You’re back to your usual likable self.”

  Michael reached for Thomas’ shoulder as an aid, as he carefully pulled himself to his feet. “Where the hell are we, and what happened?” he asked quietly and looked around.

  “Well...where we are is easy, we’re at the bottom of the cliff that we stopped at last night. What happened ain’t so easy to answer.” As Thomas recounted what had happened, Michael staggered to the water’s edge, and into the ocean to knee depth. Once there he scooped handfuls of the frigid water into his face, wincing at the needle-like stabs of pain.

  Once he had completed his story, Thomas asked him, “Why is it that you can rub that salt water in your face, but you hollered bloody murder when I was trying to clean you up?”

  “Believe me, Thomas, I’m no happier with my doing it than I was when you did.”

  He stopped his banter with Thomas as he realized they were alone. He began to look around him with real concern.

  “Where is everyone else? Where’s Sarah?”

  The big man turned his eyes from Michael, not wanting to admit he could not answer his question without causing Michael more pain.

  “Don’t know, Michael. I hollered for them to run. The last I saw, they were making a hasty retreat inland. I just don’t know for sure what happened to them.”

  “Help me to shore, Thomas. If I can get my wits about me, I should be able to track Everett through our bond of magic.”

  Almost ten minutes later Michael had composed himself enough that he was able to locate his teacher. He told Thomas not to worry, that Everett had located them through his own magic, and that all three were now on their way to rejoin them.

  It was nearly a half hour before Everett, Sarah, and Oliver made their way back to the previous night’s resting place, and then found the path down to the beach where Michael and Thomas waited.

  Sarah nearly knocked Everett from the path in her haste to reach the bottom. Once on the beach, she rushed to Michael and the greeting of his open arms.

  “Oh, I thought I had lost you for good this time,” she cried. “Look at your face,” she continued, as she peered up at his bruised and battered smiling face. “How did you get down here, anyway?”

  “Thomas can answer that better than I can. I was unconscious almost from the beginning.”

  “Not until I take care of those cuts!” she said. She promptly tore a strip of cloth from her shi
rt and dashed to the water.

  “Oh, no,” groaned Michael, looking over to Thomas. “More salt water!”

  The travelers used the rest of the day to regain their strength. They discussed how best to proceed with their travel plans and the attack to come on Acantha’s keep, intermingling the serious matters with small talk about things they had done before they had met.

  As Sarah sat and listened to the exploits of the men in their past, she thought back to the loss of her uncle nearly a year ago. Feeling an unusual camaraderie with these worldly men, she recounted the story of her loss.

  “We always supplied our own meats for the tavern’s tables,” she said. “Uncle Gus would go into the hills behind the village for a couple of days to do his hunting when supplies would begin to run low. He always took a couple of the men from town with him. They would need to provide food for their own table, plus they felt there was safety in numbers.”

  Sarah paused in telling her story, remembering the grief and pain she had felt upon learning how her beloved uncle had died on his last hunting trip. She scooped handfuls of the dry sand, and watched it slip through her hands, like the happiness that had slipped away from her a year ago.

  “Well,” she continued, “he took a couple of his regular hunting friends with him on this last trip. You know Pete and Larry, don’t you Oliver?”

  “Oh, sure. I remember that day very well, child.”

  “Yes,” said Sarah quietly. “Anyway, they had gone looking for deer, but felt they had an added bonus when they ran into fresh boar tracks. Ham steaks, bacon, and pork chops are always a welcome addition to a tavern’s fare. Uncle Gus and his two friends began tracking the boar. They were pretty far up into the hills, heading toward a stream bed. They figured that’s where they would find the wild pig. Before they got to the stream, they heard scrabbling in the brush off to one side of the trail. They notched arrows as the rustling got closer. All of the men were faced toward the sound in the brush.

  “Suddenly from behind them -- from the opposite side of the trail – an enraged boar charged from under the cover of heavy brush. There must have been two of them. The one that charged came right at my Uncle Gus. He barely had time to turn and see what was happening when it struck. The boar knocked him down and with his tusks ripped a large hole out of his stomach before Pete and Larry could put arrows in it. It took three arrows to stop the damn thing.

  “Anyway,” Sarah concluded, with a deep sigh, “Uncle Gus died before they could get him back to town.”

  “Practically the whole town turned out for his burial, I might add,” said Oliver. “He was well loved, and has been greatly missed.”

  Sarah’s story made the travelers reflect upon all that had been lost in the past, from Sarah’s Uncle Gus to Michael’s parents and all of Everett’s life-long friends.

  As evening approached, the travelers gathered what driftwood was dry enough to start a small campfire. Sarah and Michael were gathering the wood when Michael broached the subject about her uncle.

  “You’ve never told me the entire story about your uncle’s death before,” said Michael, as he bent to pick-up a small piece of wood.

  Sarah smiled shyly at Michael and stooped to grasp a long whip-like portion of kelp that had washed to shore. Watching the trailing end of the whip as she slowly swung it from side to side, she spoke to Michael about the loss she had suffered, and her fears of further loss.

  “It still hurts, you know,” she said softly. “He was everything to me, and I lost him so quickly. I didn’t even have a chance to tell him I loved him one last time. Then, when we couldn’t find you this morning, I thought of how I didn’t want to go through that again.”

  She carelessly tossed the strand of kelp to the ground, and looked out at the darkening ocean before turning back to Michael. “I love you so much, Michael. What you’re planning to do is dangerous, so very dangerous. I don’t want to lose you, not ever.”

  Michael let the few pieces of driftwood fall from his hands as he moved to embrace Sarah. He stood briefly holding her, one hand behind her head with fingers intertwined in her hair, welcoming the feel of her body next to his, matching her breathing with his and feeling as one.

  He whispered into her ear. “You won’t lose me, Sarah, because that would mean I would lose you as well, and I won’t allow that. I will learn all there is to learn, all that Everett can teach me about controlling the emerald. And I will do whatever it takes to defeat Acantha.”

  Later, with the small campfire lit, the group sat or reclined in near silence. Michael and Sarah were lying in the sand, staring at the canopy of brilliant stars overhead. Everett and Thomas were speaking quietly near the fire. Oliver was sitting alone on the opposite side of the fire, staring into its flames as though hypnotized.

  “Why so quiet, Oliver?” asked Everett when a gap in his conversation with Thomas appeared.

  “Hmm? What?” asked Oliver, as he slowly pulled his gaze from the fire.

  “You’ve hardly said two words all evening. What’s on your mind?”

  “Oh, I was just thinking about how hard the trip south is going to be. The terrain is getting rougher all the time. I understand why you don’t want to go by boat – we’d be stuck out in the open if Acantha attacked. But, I still think with all the talent here, there must be an easier way. After all, our ancestors were smart enough that they figured a way to get from place to place without walking. Why can’t we?”

  “Well, I’m used to walking through the mountains,” said Thomas, “but, if you’ve got any ideas that will make it any easier, I’m for it.”

  Everett propped his arms on his knees as he sat forward toward Oliver. “Have you been thinking of something specific, Oliver? I may be an old teacher of magic, but that does not mean I’m too old for new ideas.”

  Oliver leaned to one side, resting on his left arm, his right hand stroking the coarse stubble of his unshaven face. “Well, I was thinking of what Michael said back in the Cruz Mountains, about people flying through the air in machines. He said that was in the old days before magic came to the world.”

  Michael rose from lying on his back. Now in a sitting position he spoke to Oliver. “That was using a science that is lost to us now, Oliver. It’s a feat we will never be able to duplicate again.”

  Oliver shook his head, and waved Michael’s objection away with his hand. “I’m not so sure, Michael. I was also thinking of a couple nights ago, when we were escaping from those mad churchmen. Sarah asked Everett why he didn’t fly, and he said all he could do is float where the wind took him.”

  Oliver was beginning to become animated with the excitement of his unprecedented idea. He straightened back up to an upright position and leaned into the fire, to reach closer to the magicians upon whom rested the success of his idea.

  “Everett, can you make other things around you float, like this piece of wood here?” At this point he grasped a peace of driftwood that was set aside for when the fire burned down.

  “Of course,” responded Everett. “It’s a simple trick really, just a matter of displacement.”

  “Could you lift a large, heavy piece of wood?” continued Oliver.

  “Well...within limits, of course.”

  Oliver’s attention returned to the flames of the fire, once again lost in his thoughts.

  “What are you getting at, Everett?” asked Sarah, as she stood to move over to his side of the fire.

  “I don’t know, wishful thinking maybe,” he said as he continued to stare into the fire.

  “I think I begin to see where you’re going with this, Oliver,” said Everett into the silence. “If you lashed enough wood together for three or four people to sit on, Michael or I either one could easily make it float. But, that wouldn’t do us any good. We would just sit in the air and float, we would be too heavy for the wind to push us anywhere.”

  “Not if I rigged up a sail, like on my fishing boat! Remember, I lived my whole life on the ocean, I’m sure I could bu
ild the vessel that would harness the wind, if you could keep it in the air.”

  Everett sat in silence, considering Oliver’s idea. He looked over at Michael and raised his eyebrows in question. He was answered by Michael’s raised shoulders. He was as perplexed as Everett.

  “I don’t know, Everett,” Michael said. “Just because it’s never been done before doesn’t mean it won’t work.”

  Everett rose from the sand and paced back and forth in front of the fire. “I have no idea if this air vessel of yours will work, and I fear it’s all academic anyway. Granted, you and Thomas could surely build the vessel, but what would you use for the sails?”

  Oliver seemed to deflate in front of Everett’s questioning eyes. “I don’t know, I haven’t thought it all out yet. I said it might all be wishful thinking, but it’s not an idea I want to let go of right now.”

  “Well, when you figure it out,” replied Everett, “let me know, but for tonight I’m done speculating. It’s time to sleep.”

  The rest of the travelers soon followed Everett’s example. All but Oliver who stayed up well into the night, thinking and rethinking an idea that he was certain would work.

  CHAPTER 18

  A week later Michael and his group of travelers were in a very heavily wooded area of the coast. It was some of the most rugged and overgrown area they had been in yet. They had moved a good distance inland as they traveled, and now walked among intimidating stands of tanbark oak trees and giant redwoods.

  Late summer showers had followed them for most of the last week. The mountainous area they had moved into was quickly becoming choked with the lush ferns that would grow taller than their heads.