The Shepherd of Fire (The Soul Stone Trilogy Book 2)

by Matt Moss

  Topping the hill, she saw the shadow of a lone mountain in the distance. She controlled her breathing, steady in and then steady out, as the hill proved to be more than what it seemed. She sat on the cool ground and took in the view that the night provided.

  Her eyes closed as she tilted her head to the sky and offered up a prayer. She prayed for Arkin first, for his protection and that he might find whatever it was that he was looking for. Second, she prayed for the people and for the Order. Lastly, she prayed for her family on the farm in Fortuna. When finished, a slight grin broke across her face — one that meant everything was as it should be in the world. She found consolation in her faith and trusted the future to the Almighty.

  As she stared across the vast plateau that seemed to go on forever, a sharp, sudden movement caught her eye. She squinted, focusing on the shadow in the distance that had moved.

  Nothing.

  Her eyes peered across the dimly lit field in search of motion as her heart raced, sure that she had seen something.

  “It’s nothing,” she said to herself. When dealing with fear, speaking the words out loud was a trick that she had used since she was a child. She spoke especially loud at night on the farm when she had to feed the animals. Wolves had made a meal out of more than one of her father’s sheep.

  There. Again, the shadow moved.

  She jumped into a crouch and peered into the night.

  Focusing, she noticed that it wasn’t one shadow that moved. It was two.

  What are two people doing out here in the middle of nowhere? she thought. Her instinct was to run, but she knew that if she did, whoever it was would see her and probably give chase. She couldn’t lead them back to the camp and endanger everyone by revealing its location.

  Her hand slid down her leg and found the dagger that she always kept tucked in her boot.

  “Treat it like your lover. Keep it close and it’ll never let you down.” Torin’s words were forever fixed in her brain.

  She remained as still as she could, hoping that whoever it was didn’t see her.

  But they were walking right towards her!

  Damn! I gotta move. She wanted to, but her legs wouldn’t budge. Fear gripped her to the core and froze her in place. They were almost on her now.

  Against her better judgement, she jumped, turned, and ran.

  “Wait!” a voice called from behind her.

  She ignored it, desperately trying to keep her legs under her as she dashed down the hill. Her feet failed, and she flew through the air for a moment before crashing onto the ground. The blow made her ears ring and she rolled down the hill for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she came to a stop at the bottom of the hill and lie face down on the cool ground, moaning. Her body was sorely bruised and she felt a sharp pain in her side every time she breathed. With her medical background and recent training with Doctor Arze, she knew what it was — a fractured or broken rib. With any luck, just one.

  She craned her neck up and looked into the woods. Only a few hundred paces away lie her refuge. She could hide in the forest and make her way back to the camp when it was safe. She clawed at the ground and began to drag herself, but the pain was too much.

  Two shadows appeared on the ground before her. With a shaking hand, she felt for the dagger. It wasn’t there. Probably lost during the fall.

  “Are you alright?” one shadow said, standing over her.

  Lyla slowly rolled over to find the man extending his hand towards her. “Who are you? What do you want?” she asked.

  “My name is Moses. This is my apprentice, Joko,” the cloaked shadow said, still holding his hand out for her. “Please, take my hand.”

  She noted that his voice was grizzled, yet… warmly sincere. She didn’t know why, but she found herself trusting him. Hesitantly, she took his hand. An immediate rush of warmth coursed through her body and her vision became enhanced — she suddenly could see as though it was day!

  Her eyes were wide as she took in Moses’s face. Though the years showed, he still bore a handsome face and his hair, straight and silvery white in the moonlight, softly fell around it. Rising to her feet now, she stood as tall as him. It was then that she truly saw his eyes. They were solid white and shown as if they were glowing like the moon. She didn’t want to let go of his hand.

  Amazed by the feeling, she looked to the other man, Joko. He was much younger than Moses, taller too. No hair grew on his head, and he looked like he was from a land far removed from the rest of the kingdom. Sharp lines and dark eyes made up his face, and his skin was brown, though not from the sun. With his head cocked slightly to the side, he regarded her with what looked like only the slightest bit of intrigue.

  “What… what is this?” she asked with wonder, turning her gaze back into the old man’s eyes.

  “The power of healing, my lady,” Moses said and released her hand. “Please, tell me your name.”

  When his hand left, her vision returned to normal but the warm feeling lingered on. Her body felt incredible, like never before and she felt no pain, whatsoever.

  “Lyla… my name is Lyla,” she stammered, still in awe.

  “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, Lyla? There isn’t a town for miles on end. Is your family nearby?”

  She searched for a lie. She didn’t want to reveal the Order’s whereabouts to anyone. The secrecy of the camp was all they had left. “I ran away from home,” she settled on.

  Moses crossed his arms. “I haven’t the patience for lies, Lyla. I’m searching for someone and time is of the essence.”

  She looked to Joko as if she was trying to convince him instead of Moses. “It’s the truth, I swear! My father…”

  “Enough!” Moses commanded, causing her to jump and cease her words. “I have seen you with the Order. I know what happened at the Grand Highlands.”

  She furrowed her brow in defense. “Then why are you asking me?” she said and crossed her arms.

  Moses put an arm around her and brought her to his side. He pointed to the lone mountain in the distance. “Only a few days ago, something happened up there.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Moses took a step back and faced her. “There was an eruption of power. Did you hear it? Did you feel it?”

  She turned towards the mountain, remembering the explosion of sound. The whole camp heard it. Come to think of it, she did feel it, but was too shaken up at the time to take notice. That was shortly after Arkin had left. Then he returned.

  Arkin. It was you! Lyla put a hand to her mouth in revelation. She quickly moved it to brush away her hair so as not to give notice.

  “So you did feel it,” Moses noted. “Do you know who did that?”

  She gave a hesitant nod, unable to speak words because she was afraid to reveal Arkin’s name. This man had healed her, yes, but he was still unknown and would have to earn her trust.

  “He is who I am looking for.”

  “Why? What do you want with him,” Lyla asked, turning back to Moses.

  “I want to show him the calling,” he said with arms to his sides, palms facing up.

  “The calling?” She found Moses a bit vague and could only communicate with questions. Maybe if she asked enough, he would forget about Arkin.

  “The soul’s calling,” he clarified. “With training, one can hear its cry. It desires to be set free.”

  “To be set free… I don’t understand.”

  Moses gathered his thoughts for a moment before continuing. “You’ve been with the Order, so you must know of soul tapping.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve seen it before.”

  “The soul desires to be free, thus the initial power that comes from the tap. But it is subdued; like a river that becomes choked by the land until it turns into a stream.” He tapped on his chest. “The river flows deep and wide. It needs a path to do so. That is the soul’s calling.”

  “So, how do you heed the s
oul’s calling?” she asked. “How do you give it a path?”

  “With training. With time. And with patience.” Moses turned to his companion and stuck his hand out. “And now I must leave.” Joko gave a sharp nod and gripped the grandmaster’s forearm, saying goodbye.

  Lyla took a step towards them. “You’re leaving? Now? I have more questions to ask…” At least he didn’t ask about Arkin anymore.

  “I leave you with my apprentice.” Moses interrupted her and motioned to Joko. “He will oversee your training. All of your questions will be answered in time. Now I must leave.”

  “Wait, training? For what?” she asked and looked to Joko. He had barely moved the entire time and still wore the same, slightly intrigued expression on his face as he looked at her.

  Moses turned to her and smiled. “To be a warrior of the light.” The old man turned and walked away, soon becoming a shadow again before fading into the night.

  NINE

  The axe cut with a ferocious rage. Splinters and chunks of wood flew each time Torin let the blade fly. When it quickly became dull, Torin cursed and threw it aside. He stared at his blistered, bloody hands and clenched his fist, ignoring that pain. He would have to go fetch another axe from the mill, and part of him was glad for a break. He’d been cutting logs since first light, and had been doing so for three days straight.

  As he strode to the mill and away from the task at hand, his mind began to race again. For the first few days after the attack, all he wanted was death. To just give up and die with his brothers. But something inside told him to rebuild the Grand Highlands. Paul would have wanted him to rebuild, and so would the rest of his brothers. He set that task to mind and would save dying for when he was done.

  By the third day, he gave up the thought of dying by his own hand — he still had unfinished business.

  No way I’m gonna let that high priest, son of a bitch rip everything away that the Order stood for. No way.

  He would rebuild. Then, he would have vengeance.

  Looking up and into a clear blue sky, he peeled his tunic off and wiped the sweat from his face. Inside the mill, he drew a ladle of water from the bucket that he had filled from the creek that morning. After drinking his fill, he poured the rest over his head and breathed as the cool water ran down his body. He would need to return to the creek to fill it again, but decided it could wait. The next break he took would allow him to take an afternoon swim, and he would undoubtedly feel better for it.

  He returned to his workplace with two axes in hand. Looking at the pile of lumber he had already cut, he noticed that he needed more logs and left again to fetch some. As he left the mill once again, this time carrying a massive log on each shoulder, he was reminded of the log carry that the Order performed in training. How many times had he competed against his brothers?

  His thoughts turned to Stubbs. He could still picture the big man standing proud and confident as ever, with Bennie trailing along somewhere close by. Stubbs was one of the best warriors he’d ever known, stubborn as a damn mule, though. He was one of the best friends Torin had ever known, as well.

  The pain took over again and with a set jaw his steps intensified as he carried the logs. Before he knew it, he was running through the town of burnt remains and ash, sending small clouds of dust from his feet as they pounded the ground.

  He returned with the logs and let them both fall with a ground shaking thud. He bent to pick one up and placed it on top of two smaller logs, allowing him to cut the big log into two parts easier. His face snarled as he held the axe in his hands, staring down at the log. He raised the tool over his head and furiously brought it down, as if Victor himself was lying there. In no time, Torin halved the first log, added the pieces by throwing them onto the pile, and began to work on the second. After that was done, he looked at the mound of lumber, his chest heaving and muscles burning for exertion. The pile was adding up, and he figured there was enough to begin building. He tossed the axe to the side and decided that he would begin raising the first building tomorrow. It wouldn’t be easy to do alone, but it could be done. At least it would be a start.

  He bathed in the creek and felt rejuvenated after the long day of work. As he returned to the town, the sun began to set. His stomach felt hollow — the hunger pang reminding him that he hadn’t eaten all day. He was thankful that there was at least still food in the Lodge and he didn’t need to hunt for any, though he was cautious to eat it with all the death that took place there. The place still stunk of it, though he did his best to clean away all the blood and remains.

  Walking up the hill to the Lodge, he noticed that the smell of burnt bodies still hung in his nostrils. He remembered that day and how he fought through tears of pain to pile the bodies, one by one, onto the training grounds — they were to be burned to keep away disease. It was also the Order’s tradition to burn their fallen as opposed to burying them — the rising ashes was symbolic of the soul returning to the Almighty in the heavens. After Torin collected all of the deceased, he set them aflame and offered up a prayer for their souls. Sometime later that night, lying on the ground as the embers burned, he cried himself to sleep.

  He shook his head as his feet reached the steps of the Lodge, attempting to drive away the memory of it all. He opened the door, walked in, then stopped as his eyes locked onto a man. The stranger sat at a table, slurping a steaming bowl of vegetable stew.

  The man looked up. “I was wondering when you would take a break,” he said from under the hood of his cloak.

  Torin cracked his knuckles, appalled by this unwanted guest. “I don’t recall inviting anyone here. So that either makes you mad, or a dead man.”

  The old man looked up and threw back his hood. He walked towards Torin.

  “Moses,” Torin gasped.

  “Hello, Torin.” Moses said and offered his hand in greeting. “It’s been awhile.”

  Torin shook his hand, then embraced him. “It’s been going on the better part of two decades. How have you been?”

  “Fair, I suppose,” Moses replied and motioned Torin to the table. “Sit. I’ve made enough for the both of us.” He exited the back of the Lodge to where he had prepared a cook fire and soon returned with a hot bowl cradled in both hands.

  Torin nodded his appreciation as the old man set it down.

  “I used what you had in the kitchen. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. So tell me, Moses, what brings you to the Grand Highlands?” Torin asked, his tone filled with sarcasm as he motioned around with his arms to highlight the place.

  “Don’t speak of it that way, Torin,” Moses chided. “It is still grand and great. Just the way Paul always wanted it to be.”

  “Well, Paul’s not here anymore to be the judge of that,” Torin stated and leaned over his bowl.

  Moses watched as the big man ate greedily. “What are you doing here, Torin?”

  Torin paused. “You’ve been watching me for a while, it seems like, since you’ve had the time to prepare this fine meal. Who knows how long you’ve been here, watching. What’s it look like I’m doing here?”

  “It looks like you’ve abandoned the rest of your family that fled to the north and are now sulking like a child.”

  Torin slammed his fist on the table. “Don’t speak to me of family, Moses! You weren’t here. You don’t know what happened!” Torin snapped his head to the side, realizing his loss of control. After a moment, he regained his composure. “You haven’t been a part of this family for a long time,” he calmly said.

  Moses looked away. “You are right. I have not been with you all for a long time, and for that I am sorry. But I was here when the Order fell,” Moses stated “And I was at the capital the day Paul died.”

  Torin looked at him, wide eyed with pain and confusion that was surely written all over his face. “Why didn’t you do anything? You could have prevented all of this from happening. You could have saved him.”

  “What could I have done?” Moses ple
aded, meeting Torin’s eyes. He shook his head. “There was nothing I could do but watch.”

  Torin noted sincerity from the man, but that wasn’t enough. “That’s always your answer eh, Moses? I remember you saying the same thing after the Rebellion, just before you left. Seems some things never change. Tell me, how many lives have been lost that could have been saved? Is your belief that limits you from fighting for yourself or anyone else worth all that’s been taken away?”

  Moses’s anger flashed in his eyes. The table creaked and began to splinter under his clenched fists.

  Torin raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the old Grandmaster Moses, the pacifist?”

  As quick as the old man’s temper flared, it left, and a smile crept upon his face. “Can a pacifist not become angry?”

  Torin turned back to his bowl and began eating. “Why are you here, grandmaster?”

  “I’m looking for Arkin.”

  Torin’s eyes shot back up and his face grew stern. “He’s not here. And if he were, you’d have nothing to do with him. I’d make sure of that.”

  “That’s not your choice to make,” Moses said and folded his hands.

  Torin clenched his jaw. “As I said, he’s not here. Like you said, they fled up north. What do you want with him anyway?”

  “He is of my blood,” Moses stated. “Now, he is the last of it. I want to tell him the truth about his past. About everything.”

  Torin didn’t like it, but had no choice in the matter. Moses was Arkin’s kin. Still, it didn’t feel right to him. Then again, nothing felt right anymore. “Suppose he’s gotta hear it sometime,” Torin grumbled before finishing the stew.

  Moses stacked the empty bowls after Torin finished. “I was up north before I came here. I met a young woman named Lyla.”

  “You saw Lyla?” Torin asked, a hint of hope now in his voice. “They made it to the camp alright?”

  Moses nodded. “Aye. Seems she is rather protective of Arkin and would not tell me his name. The boy is moving south, though I do not know what for.”