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

by Matt Moss

  This is it — this is the garden!

  Her thoughts of excitement didn’t compare to what she beheld at the bottom. She looked around the enormous cave in wonder, her eyes lit from the glow of the stones that were scattered about. Seven massive stones, each slightly smaller than the standing stones, made up the whole of the garden — each a different substance or color. A bed of smaller stones, much like the ones that she’d seen someone wield in their hands, covered the floor around their larger parts, some scattered further throughout the cave.

  She walked through the cave in awe, noticing the formation of the stalagmites that rose from the ground. As she approached one of the large stones, the small stones shifted and glowed bright under her feet with every step that she took, only to fade softly as her foot left them. She giggled out loud, the sound echoing off the walls of the sacred place. She couldn’t help it, knowing that this was the answer to all of their prayers. And knowing that she found it!

  Looking up, she noticed a tunnel overhead. She ran to another one of the large stones and looked up — another tunnel. They must have fallen from the sky. She picked up one of the small stones and held it in her hand, the emerald glow filling her eyes. And these smaller ones must have broken off of the larger stones on impact.

  “Lyla.”

  She heard the faint call from above and ran to the tunnel. “Torin, you have to see this!” she called back, cupping her hands around her mouth.

  After multiple grunts and curses, Torin emerged from the tunnel, coughing. He shook the dirt from his head and looked around.

  “Can you believe it?” Lyla asked intently.

  Torin couldn’t speak as he took in the wonder. After a moment, his eyes welled with emotion. He dropped to his knees and thanked the Almighty.

  “Joko, come on down. You have to see this!” Lyla called to him. “Joko!”

  No reply came. Lyla tugged on the rope — it was still anchored. “Did you give Joko the rope?” she asked Torin.

  He shook his head. “I tied it around a stone. Shortly after you entered, Joko went crazy. He paced around and kept saying that we needed to leave now, that we were in danger. Next thing I knew, he was gone.”

  Lyla frowned. “That doesn’t sound like him. Let’s go back up. We need to find him.” She gripped the rope and began to climb.

  Torin saw a couple of stones that were scattered by his feet. Bending down, he made sure to tuck a couple of them on his person before going back up.

  Lyla gripped his hand as he reached the top and helped him up. She began calling for Joko and searched until the sun began to fade.

  “He’s gone, Lyla.” Torin brought the horses into the circle of stones and began to untie the packs. “It’s going to grow cold soon. Let’s get a fire going and make camp for the night. Maybe he’ll show up in the morning.”

  THIRTY ONE

  After the war, and the encounter with Victor, Rico took off towards the Crossing. He’d never been one to put much belief in the spiritual realm, despite the fact that he could soul tap. He believed in the power of the human being — mind, body, and spirit — and thought it to be natural and didn’t need an explanation of how mankind came to be. And to him, it really didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was the moment.

  But as he ran over the mountains, he began to question everything. He just witnessed things that were not of this world. He believed in the Almighty, but thought it was just a part of the human spirit that one could communicate with and form a bond between. That bond could make the unimaginable happen — like soul tapping. And when aligned with the soul’s path, it also seemed to have sway over outside events. Some called it destiny or fate; others called it chance. All of that he could wrap his head around. To him, the belief that God was pitted against the devil for mankind was just a reason for people to lay claim to religious beliefs or justify why evil existed in the world. Good and evil lived in every man and was made apparent in choices made.

  The devil was who someone pointed a finger at to justify themselves and play the victim.

  That was before. Now, something deep down told him that there was a devil and that he was real. He knew it wasn’t the devil himself on the battleground that he saw — just followers of the devil. Demons, maybe. He’d never put merit in angels or demons. That was before.

  Victor was no demon, he knew. But that power — the flashes of light and the energy that coursed around his body — it almost took Rico’s breath. He could feel the priest’s power surging around him. How did he find such a power?

  One way or another, Rico would find out. If the priest wouldn’t talk, he would spill the bastard’s blood for answers. He had to know how Victor came to the knowledge of that power. He made a promise to the Almighty that he would kill Victor, but first he needed answers. Then he would end him.

  His feet came to a stop on the road leading to the Crossing. He wasn’t far from the town now. Arkin and Moses were out there somewhere, Torin and the rest of the people from the Grand Highlands as well. He could meet up with them and rebuild. They could gather their numbers and strike against Victor. That would take years, though, and he knew that there wasn’t time for that. There never was.

  He turned around and began the long walk back to Kingsport as the sun faded in the sky, blinding his eyes before sinking into the distance.

  THIRTY TWO

  “I hate this place,” Victor said as he reclined in the bath. Sarie ran a cloth over him, cleansing his body with oils. “I want it torn down.”

  “The palace?” she asked, confused. “But this is our home.”

  “The church is our home. It is where we belong.” He rose from the tub and began to dress. “This palace stands as a reminder of a past time. It interferes with the Religion and what it stands for.” He looked into her eyes. “Nothing is above the Religion and the church.”

  Sarie held her tongue and bowed before him. There were some things that she could sway him on, but this was not one of them. She knew when his mind was set upon something. She followed him into the room.

  “You haven’t spoken since you’ve been back,” she said. “How did the battle go? I prayed for victory and safety on your behalf.”

  “It seems the Almighty answered your prayers, then — here I am, delivered and victorious.” He held his arms out as he spoke the words before spinning on his heel to walk away. He stopped where his white robe hung, admiring it. “Change is coming, Sarie. Are you prepared for it?”

  She didn’t know how to answer the question. How could anyone answer such a question?

  She walked to him, removed the garment, and held his robe out. She threw it about his shoulders, helping him dress. “I am with you, no matter what.” She stood in front of him.

  He caressed her face. “No matter what?”

  She gazed into his eyes. “No matter what.”

  Rico sat at the bar, entertaining the thought of tying on a good one. After everything that just happened, the whiskey was calling his name like never before. After a few drinks, his worries and cares slipped away.

  Apparently, the rest of Kingsport was there to do the same thing. The noise from the patrons was a constant dull roar of meaningless conversation and it interfered with the musicians playing in the corner. Rico always appreciated music and the beautiful expression of one’s self that it took to create it. He didn’t have an artistic bone in his body, but he admired the arts and the soul’s connection to it nonetheless. That is, not unless you considered killing an art. In that, he was more than adept and could paint the town red, the lament of widows, his music.

  A woman stepped to the bar and brushed against his arm.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in an unapologetic way, wearing a wry smile.

  His eyes went from the bar to her face. “None needed tonight,” he said, smiling. “What are you having?”

  She looked at the array of bottles behind the bar, pressed her breasts up against the bar and pretended to be uninterested, obviously playing ha
rd to get. “You tell me,” she said from painted red lips.

  You’re trying too hard. Damn, though, girls in the city are trouble.

  He signaled the bartender for two more bourbons. As he began to strike up a conversation that he knew would lead to her leaving with him, a man plopped down in a chair beside him.

  “Give me the strongest damn thing you’ve got,” he demanded, slamming his arms onto the bar. Rico turned, giving the man a cautious glance. He was large, strong looking, and covered in hair. And he smelt of shit — like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. He slammed a fist on the bar. “C’mon, bring Grom a drink.”

  Rico ignored the woman and focused on the newest company to address the fine establishment that was known as the Thirsty Whore. There was something about this man that was asking for an ass kicking tonight. Funny how some people can just walk up and all you can think about is punching them in the face, Rico thought.

  The woman snorted and left, obviously hurt from the lack of attention. It didn’t matter. Plenty more in a place like this.

  “Strongest I got,” the bartender said and placed the glass in front of Grom. The grizzly man shot it down and spat. “You expect me to drink this piss?” He grabbed the bartender by the shirt. “I said bring me the strongest you got.”

  That’s it.

  “I believe you’ve had enough, Crumb,” Rico said, slamming his chair back.

  Grom looked at Rico standing in all seriousness beside him. He let the bartender go and sat back, laughing. “Finally, a man with balls in this Godforsaken city!” Grom spoke to the bartender, civil this time. “Two of what he’s drinking,” he said, pointing to Rico.

  The bartender, shaken a bit, straightened his clothes. “Coming right up,” he said.

  Grom glared at Rico dangerously. “The name’s Grom, not Crumb. You’d do well to remember that.” The tension sat thick, the noise in the bar more hushed than before. “Sit down, man. Calm down for God’s sake!” He chuckled and slapped Rico on the arm.

  Rico raised his chair and sat back down, slowly.

  “Fired up tonight, aren’t ya?” Grom asked. “Can’t say that I blame ya though. I get that way myself from time to time,” he said and looked at the assortment of booze that sat behind the bar in front of him.

  Rico shot his drink down, trying to calm his nerves. This man still put him on edge. “Where you from?” he asked.

  “Here and there. A bit of a wandering nomad I guess you might say,” Grom said and smiled a mouthful of yellow teeth at him. “God, I love it though. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “What do you do for work?” Rico asked.

  “Work comes where it can. I get by,” he said, defensively.

  Rico nodded. The bartender brought the drinks. “Two bourbons.”

  Grom held it up to Rico in salute. Rico returned the gesture before shooting it down. He signaled the bartender for two more drinks. This man held secrets, and he was determined to get them out of him. He’d only met one man that could outdrink him — Stubbs.

  “My brother!” Grom said and slapped him on the back.

  The music played on through the night, filling the background with jovial tunes, and the drinks kept coming. Despite the late night hours, the Thirsty Whore was packed.

  Rico shook his head, trying to clear the haze.

  Surely this son of a bitch is drunker than me.

  Grom smiled in between his sentences. He was busy all night telling Rico stories from his travels around the world. Most of them were believable, but there were some… some were verging on evil and sadistic. It was those stories where the man took pause to choose his words carefully instead of rambling on like he normally did. Each time he looked at Rico as if to see if he suspected anything. He didn’t smile while telling those stories, his face remaining impassive, uncaring.

  Those were the stories that Rico was looking for. The tortures. The rapes. The ritualistic sacrifices. Through foggy haze, Rico knew that this man would have to die, for the good of the world if nothing else.

  This guy’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  Rico swore that he wouldn’t let Grom leave the bar alive. Or at least he would follow him out of the bar and slit his throat in a dark alley somewhere. Quiet. No witnesses.

  But damn if he wasn’t drunk and seeing double. He looked at Grom. The grizzled man was talking away, waving his arms and telling his stories as if an audience was around him. The bastard was just as sober as when he arrived!

  Grom continued talking about a war that he wasn’t a part of, but knew about. It was a secret war between two factions that had been around for a long time, both searching for some kind of power that lie hidden somewhere.

  Rico’s senses were slow, but he caught the last line that the man said. He wanted him to say it again. “Wait, what did you just say?” Rico slurred.

  Grom raised the glass, preparing to take a drink. “I said, they’ve found the Garden. I’ll be damned how, but they did.”

  Suddenly, Rico felt more sober now, like someone just gave him a straight jab to the nose, the blinding pain of it snapping him awake. “The Garden? What are you talking about? You must be drunk,” he said, pretending like he didn’t know.

  Grom leaned into Rico in all seriousness. “The Garden of Stones… they’ve found it, and now we’re going after them. They were supposed to leave it alone.” It was then that Rico recognized the eyes. They were the same as Tripp’s eyes. They were the same eyes that Maximus now had.

  A familiar chill ran down his spine.

  “What is it?” Grom asked with a cocked head, noticing a sudden change in Rico. “Did I say something I wasn’t supposed to?”

  Rico met the man’s gaze. An urge to pull the blade that rested on his hip tugged at his hand. He breathed instead. “Not that I’m aware of. Sounds like those poor souls got themselves into a bit of a mess.”

  Grom leaned back into his seat and laughed. “If they only knew!” He drained his glass. “The poor bastards will wish they’d never been born. We leave in the morning.”

  Shit.

  “Something wrong, friend?” Grom asked.

  Rico shook his head and emptied his glass. “No. Forgive me, I do believe that I’ve done myself in for the night.” He stood, wobbly, and steadied himself on the bar stool. “Yep. I’m drunk.”

  Damn it’s gonna be hell in the morning. Idiot!

  “Good to meet you, Rico. May our paths cross again.” Grom offered his hand.

  Rico shook it and inclined a nod. As he left the bar and walked outside, a chill hit him, one that wasn’t from the cool night air. Not once, but twice had he been in the presence of someone, or something, that wasn’t of this world. Those eyes haunted him since the day before on the battlefield. Now he’d seen them again in another — one of the four.

  Somewhere through the fog and haze in his mind, he recalled Paul talking about the four. They rode in upon a storm of lightning and brought hell with them. It was prophesied that they would roam the land before the fall of man — before the end of days.

  I’m drunk. I’m a fool. And I need sleep.

  I need to warn them!

  He didn’t know where the Garden of Stones was, so he had no way to warn them. But the four knew. They would be leaving in the morning to go after them, and he would follow. He had no idea about what he would do once they got there, but he’d seen one of them bleed before. If they bled, then they could be killed. That gave him hope.

  Rico stumbled off into the night. He wouldn’t go back to Jennie’s. The risk was too great now that Victor knew he was alive.

  He would make his bed among the beggars. Nobody would look for him there. He finally found his way to the shelter. Hundreds of men, women, and children lie scattered around the cobblestone street with tattered blankets and burlap sacks to stay warm.

  Rico found an empty space among them and laid down. He tried to keep his thoughts at bay as his world spun. Through sheer will, he fought the urge to throw
up.

  He lost that battle.

  THIRTY THREE

  Arkin walked beside Moses through the city streets of Cartha, the farthest independent city in the realm. Everything that lie past it was beyond the kingdom’s reach, mostly comprised of outlandish tribes and smaller countries that preferred to keep to their own instead of build relations with the kingdom. A few would trade with the kingdom, mostly by ship through port of Stonebridge or Kingsport.

  “There is more to the world than what you know, Arkin.” Moses led them through the busy streets, through the shouting of merchants and traders. “There’s more to it than the kingdom, the Religion, and the independent cities. A great deal more.”

  Arkin followed Moses as he left the busy street and descended between two buildings, down a staircase that led to an underground tavern. The music, faintly heard from the top, grew louder as they plunged deeper into the depths of the city.

  “The underground,” Moses said at the bottom. “A city beneath the city. One can find anything of want down here.” He looked to Arkin and pressed an arm to his chest, halting him. “And the price doesn’t just involve what you have in your purse. There are some who require more than coin.”

  Arkin patted Moses on the shoulder. “Good thing I’m following you, then.”

  Moses looked him in the eye. “This is not a place you want to be. I only bring you here because I feel that you need to see this. To be exposed to the world and everything in it is the only way you can distinguish the light amongst the dark.”

  As they entered the room, Arkin looked around. The place looked normal to him. People sat at tables while others lined the bar, filling the place with laughter and conversation. Some danced to the music.

  Moses raised a hand and motioned Arkin to follow him. They moved through the crowded room and descended down another flight of stairs. At the bottom, a series of tunnels led in all directions. Arkin was surprised at how many people were down there, moving from one tunnel to the next as though they were city streets.