The Path of Man (The Soul Stone Trilogy Book 1)

by Matt Moss

  Arkin and Lyla listened intently.

  “This book has historical records of the stones kept by the church,” Paul said, opening the book. “There are gaps throughout time where man has found these stones before. They used them, extorting their power, and then, poof!” Paul animated with his arms. “Gone. No trace of them for centuries at a time.”

  “Where did they go?” Arkin asked.

  “I believe that the stones are too powerful for mankind to use,” Paul said. “Power corrupts, and I think ultimately, the previous users of the stones were annihilated, either by themselves or by the Almighty. A whole tribe of people wiped out.”

  “How do you know man found the stones before?” Lyla asked.

  “There are things in this world, my dear, that cannot be explained,” Paul said. “Take the great pyramids for example. The cornerstones are massive. Each weighs more than a hundred men could lift. The structure itself is hundreds of feet tall and tapers at the top like this.” Grabbing a pen and paper, he began to sketch. “Each side is perfectly symmetrical to the other. Pulleys and levers could not have achieved this. Tell me how a primitive race of people, ages ago, could have constructed this?”

  “Soul stones?” Lyla said.

  “Yes! A levitation stone to be exact. Where they found knowledge of the architecture, or the reason for building them, I do not know.”

  Lyla cocked her head, looking at Arkin. “That’s what made the standing stones,” she noted. Arkin raised an eyebrow in return.

  “Indeed, my dear,” Paul said. “The standing stones, the pyramids; they are all proof of the soul stones’ existence. I believe our ancestors wanted us to know that and to be reminded of their power.”

  Paul opened the book to a page filled with sketches and notes. “The lost city of Azulis,” he said, pointing his finger to a detailed drawing. “The city was more advanced than we may be a thousand years from now. The engineering and the technology that those people possessed was truly astonishing.”

  His eyes squinted as his fingers highlighted a date. “Here we have records of their existence. Unfortunately, the city, with all of their knowledge, is gone.”

  “What happened?” Arkin asked, leaning forward in his seat.

  “Nobody knows,” Paul replied. “They just vanished. Wiped from existence!”

  “They couldn’t control the power of the stones,” Arkin said, understanding. “That’s what destroyed them.”

  Paul slowly nodded, “I believe they found the Garden of Stones.”

  Arkin remembered his father’s fascination with the garden, and the look on his face when he pronounced the myth to be true.

  “The Garden of Stones is near,” Arkin said to himself as he stared off.

  Narrowing his eyes, Paul studied him intensely. He opened the drawer and pulled his pipe.

  “Are there other stones besides levitation stones?” Arkin asked.

  Having lit the tobacco, Paul nodded as he puffed on the pipe.

  “There are,” he said as smoke rolled from his mouth. “There are stones to control the elements. There is a stone of healing and a stone of sight.” He winked at the two after he said the last. “A communication stone is good for talking to someone at long distances.”

  “You mean they can hear you talk to them?” Lyla asked in awe. “Anywhere in the world?

  “Yes my dear. And you can talk back!”

  “That’s incredible!” Arkin said.

  Paul smiled. “I believe I have also heard of an invisibility stone as well as a mind control stone.” He tapped the pipe to his head. “Needless to say, the last one is possibly the most dangerous of all. There is nothing but darkness when a man’s free will is taken away.”

  “Are there any other types of stones?” Lyla asked eagerly.

  “None that I haven’t mentioned, but. . . we have not found the Garden yet either. There could be others of untold power.”

  “How do you use them?” Arkin said.

  “Ahh. Now, there’s the real question,” Paul said, then took a toke as he stared at Arkin. Paul looked away, reminiscing. “It took me and Victor time to figuring that one out,” Paul said, returning from his reverie with a grin that, to Arkin, looked forced. “We found the first stone on a mountain pass outside the Crossing. We had visited Kingsport to attend the ceremonial crowning of King George,” he paused and cleared his throat. “Pardon an old man, but my mouth is a little dry.”

  Paul pulled a jug of wine and poured a cup. He offered some to his guests to which they declined.

  “In moderation,” Paul said with a smile, then slowly drank. A few drops of red ran down his white beard as he appreciatively set the drink down. “Now, where was I?”

  “You just left the Crossing,” Lyla said with a grin then offered him a cloth.

  He smiled. “Thank you, Milady,” he said wiping his mouth. “Ah, yes, the mountain pass. It was almost dark before we made camp.”

  Arkin eagerly shifted in his seat. The thought of soul tapping had been consuming his thoughts as of late.

  “It was mid-summer, one of the hottest I can remember,” Paul said. “I left the camp in search of firewood. As I scanned the ground, something nestled against a tree caught my eye. It was a stone and it was glowing.” Paul’s face imitated his reaction as he recalled his story. It was like he was there.

  Arkin wondered how many times he had told this story, or if he had ever told it at all.

  “The blue-silver hue intensified the closer I got,” Paul continued. “I was drawn to it, as if,” he stopped, his eyes blank.

  “What?” Arkin asked. “As if what?”

  He met Arkin’s eye. “As if it were calling me.”

  Paul continued. “I must have called to Victor, because he arrived as I stood with the stone in my hand. The warmth of it ran through my body, emanating from my hand. I remember him asking what it was, but my eyes were fixed to the stone. It was,” he paused, looking for words, “the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. That’s when it happened.”

  “You soul tapped,” Lyla spoke.

  “Yes, but not in the way that you think. It’s different with stones.”

  “How so?” Arkin asked.

  “When someone soul taps, they do it on command, after they understand how to control it. With stones, it’s almost as if they tap into you,” Paul said scratching his chin. “It’s hard to explain, but there is a mutual bond that takes place. Sometimes I wonder if it’s man who is in control of the stones,” he said and took a drink of wine. “Or if it the stones who are in control of man.”

  “The stones are in control of man?” Arkin asked, confused.

  “Bah, just an old man’s ramblings. I digress,” Paul said, smiling. “Where was I?”

  “The stone!” Lyla said, then blushed upon realizing her outburst. “I’m sorry. I get a little caught up in a story sometimes.”

  “It’s quite alright, my dear,” Paul said. “I get caught up in it all the time. I suppose you want to know what happened next?”

  Lyla nodded as she sat up straight.

  “Staring into the stone, I was instantly transported in my mind,” Paul said then closed his eyes. “I saw Victor riding in front of me. We were riding a small trail on the side of a mountain. I looked up into a clear, blue sky as the sun beat down on us. As I wiped the sweat from my brow, I heard Victor’s horse whicker.”

  Arkin and Lyla sat in rapt attention.

  “It was a snake that spooked the horse,” Paul said. “Victor attempted to steer it along the path. It ran straight off the side of the cliff. I was screaming his name as my vision faded to black. Then I saw Victor standing in front of me, wide eyed,” Paul said, grinning. “I’ll never forget the shocked look on his face that day.”

  “It was a vision?” Arkin asked.

  “The Sight,” Paul said. “Visions are to be interpreted. The Sight reveals what will be.”

  Paul continued. “I was back at the camp. Looking down at my hand, the stone lo
oked normal. It was no longer glowing. I looked at Victor as he asked me what happened.”

  “What did you tell him?” Arkin asked.

  “To let go,” Paul said. “Later that night I explained what I saw.”

  “Did it happen?” Lyla asked, already knowing the answer to her question.

  Paul sat back in his chair. “The next day it unfolded just as I saw.”

  “But Victor let go,” Arkin said.

  “Aye, he did,” Paul said, then closed the book.

  Arkin and Lyla looked at each other. Both were in awe from Paul’s story.

  “As far as using the stones,” Paul said, standing, “you must first learn how to soul tap.”

  Arkin stood. “Can you teach me?”

  Paul smiled. “You better get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  Ten

  High Priest John stood on the balcony of his chamber. Amidst a sea of stars, the full moon sat high in the night sky. John shook off a chill and tied his white robe tighter.

  He overlooked the capital. Hundreds of lights could be seen from the lanterns burning on street posts and in shop windows. His gaze turned towards the King’s Palace. A long line of people were still waiting to receive their daily ration of food at the base of the steps — The King’s Generosity.

  The High Priest put the pipe to his lips and inhaled. Smoke filled his lungs as the weed burned. Why did so many people do what they were told, he wondered? Why did they dress and act the way they did? Was it fate that they were born into that life and felt like there was no way out?

  They didn’t want a way out, he surmised. People like to be guided. Told what to do. Controlled. It is fate that most are born to be ruled.

  Only a few, like himself, were the rulers.

  He was control. He was power. His body tensed as the thought almost overwhelmed him. He took another toke.

  “It’s a grand view, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind him.

  Jumping, John turned to see Victor. “Damnit, man,” he choked out, coughing from the smoke.

  Victor smiled as John regained his composure.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” John said, running his hand over his gray, balding head.

  “Surely you have no hell in you, being the high priest and all,” Victor said.

  “I am but a man,” John said, holding his arms out.

  “The religious leader must be free of sin in the eyes of man,” Victor replied, placing his hands into the pockets of his black priests’ robe.

  John snorted. “Then it is good that I am not seen so often,” he said with a smile. “When did you return?”

  “A few hours ago,” Victor said.

  John walked to his dresser. “And how did you fare in independent cities?” he asked, putting the pipe away.

  “As you know, they are independent from the king...” Victor began.

  “But they are still under the King’s Law!” John interrupted. “And they reside in the kingdom.”

  Victor inhaled and exhaled, annoyed. “Yes, and they still pay taxes to the king, but as I said, each independent city has their own laws and ways of doing things.” He walked to stand in front of John. “I did, however, convince some influential people to join our cause.”

  A grin replaced John’s scowl. “Good. Good. We need more converts. Especially those with influence.” He began to rummage through his drawer in a frantic manner. Victor painfully watched the man search for whatever it was he was searching for.

  John paused and looked up into his reflection in the mirror. “We should tax the people even harder. Drive the gap between the rich and the poor.”

  “That won’t work,” Victor said.

  “Why not?” John snorted.

  “If you push people too hard, they will revolt. Especially the people in the independent cities.”

  “They will do as the King commands!” John snapped. “They will do as God commands!”

  “Look at the people!” Victor said as he guided John to the balcony.

  Yells and cries could almost be heard from the balcony as a few of the people in line became hostile.

  “They are getting worse,” Victor said, his arm on John’s back. “And it only takes a spark to start a fire.”

  Fighting broke out in the line as a few people broke formation. The palace guards began to break up the brawl. A few in the line stole food, taking advantage of the distraction and making a break for the safety of the streets.

  Victor looked at John, noticing the man’s eyes narrow in contempt.

  Members of the Order began arresting the criminals and troublemakers. No courtesy was shown as they marched them to the palace cells.

  Suddenly, the line changed shape. The mob scattered in attempt to make a mad dash to the food. The guards, and members of the Order, fell back and quickly began to call for help.

  “You see,” Victor said, pointing, “this is just the beginning. For the most part, the people are complying with the King’s Generosity, but if you push harder, it will collapse around you,” Victor said.

  John’s breath was audible, his chest heaving, as he watched.

  More of the Order poured out of the palace to control the chaos. Within minutes, countless bodies were removed, conscious or not, and everything returned to normal.

  “If the independent cities unite against the King and the Church, it will be our undoing.” Victor said.

  John walked back into the room and began pacing back and forth. “What do I do?” He pleaded.

  “You’re High Priest,” Victor said. “You have the power to do what you want.”

  “I mean, what’s the plan? How do we make the world see that the Religion will save them?” John said.

  “It’s no small task,” Victor replied, his head down.

  “You’re Chief Advisor. Help me,” John cried.

  Victor paced for a moment. “I have an idea, that is, if you’ll hear me out,” he said.

  “Please, go on,” John said.

  “It’s a three step plan,” Victor said as he took a step towards John. “First, my apprentice is going to murder hundreds of people tomorrow, here in the capital.”

  John’s face twisted in confusion. “What?” he gasped out.

  Victor took another step toward John. “Second, the King will be assassinated and the Order will be destroyed.”

  John’s jaw dropped. “This is madness; you can’t be serious.” John started to laugh. “Of course you’re not serious.”

  Victor smiled and took a step closer

  “You almost had me going though!” John shook a finger at him. “Oh, I forgot. What’s step three?”

  Victor stood in front of John. “Change of management!” he said as he buried the curved dagger into John’s sternum.

  John wheezed as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He slumped to grab hold of Victor’s shoulder for support. Wide-eyed, he looked at Victor in disbelief. John began to weaken and Victor helped him to lie down. Blood began to pool around John on the floor. John tried to speak but all he could do was move his mouth. The pain of betrayal filled his eyes.

  Victor waited, silently, until he stopped moving. Victor pulled the dagger out and wiped the blood off on John’s robe. Bringing the blade down hard, he smashed the dagger on the stone floor, causing a piece of the ruby to break off.

  He placed the chipped piece beside John, away from the blood. His heart racing, he walked to the dresser and poured himself a glass of wine.

  After his breathing returned to normal, he drank deep as he stared at the city. His gaze turned to the palace.

  It was all his now. Almost.

  Now it was up to Lucian. The King had to die and with no connection to Victor. With King George alive, he would surely anoint someone else to be High Priest - with or without the Clergy’s approval. The King was the one man Victor couldn’t charm. His persistence actually hurt his rapport with the King.

  But with the King dead, the High Priest wou
ld be given power over the kingdom in a time of crisis.

  Victor finished the glass of wine and walked back to John. He picked the dagger up and walked out of the chamber. He shut the door and made his way out of the church.

  “Almighty’s blessing to you,” he said, passing people as he made his way through the still crowded streets. Maybe he should have waited a bit longer, allowing time for everyone to return to their homes for the night.

  Turning down a dark alley, he left the busy street. Nobody followed him. A huge man emerged from the shadows. Victor handed him the dagger.

  “Keep it safe until tomorrow. I’ll send someone to get it from you,” he said.

  “What’s happening tomorrow?” Karn said as Victor walked away.

  Victor stopped and turned his head to the side. “All Hell is breaking loose.”

  Eleven

  Looking through the second-story bedroom window in Thomas’s house, Lucian watched the sun rise — the rays beginning to peek over the top of the church. The early morning light made the city look wondrous, highlighting the cobblestone streets, marble fountains, and polished bronze on the brick shops.

  He put on his black clothes and tied the silk bag of stones around his sash. There were no errant thoughts running through his mind. No second guesses. He had made his choice. He had a job to do, and he would see it through.

  He learned a long time ago to leave emotions and thoughts out of it. In his line of work, you had to be cold, ruthless, unforgiving.

  A killer.

  The moment you brought your heart or mind into it, might as well be the moment you dug your own grave.

  Walking to a desk in the corner of the room, Lucian grabbed a pen and paper.

  Thomas, today would be a good day to call in sick. Don’t go to the market.

  Your friend, Lucian

  After making sure the room was in order, he pulled his boots on and donned his cloak.

  The house was silent, sleeping. Lucian softly made his way down the steps. He laid the note on the table where Thomas would surely see it.