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

by Matt Moss

  His hand moved for the door and then hesitated as he looked around the room, taking in all the sights and the smells. Thomas had made a good home. Lucian opened the door, but again hesitated to go out. After one last look, he stepped outside and pulled the hood of the cloak over his head.

  As he shut the door, the note blew onto the floor.

  Lucian stood alone in the market. Vendors began to open their shops and set tables along the market square.

  “What time are you opening?” Lucian asked a portly man, carrying a handful of wares.

  “Won’t get crowded for an hour or so,” he grumbled.

  I’ve got a little time to kill, Lucian thought.

  He found a tight alleyway between two shops; the space not much wider than a man. He shimmied to the top and climbed to the highest part of the roof.

  From here he could see the whole market. Sitting, he pulled some tobacco from his pouch. It might be his last for a while. Or ever.

  He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of a bird chirping. He felt the wind against his face. Turning his head up, he pulled back his hood and let the morning light kiss his skin. His eyes cracked open, taking in a blue sky with a few pink and white clouds scattered about.

  In a city this big, he could still find beauty in nature.

  On his travels, he often stopped at a stream or river and drank it in. The tranquility. The motion. The purity. The power.

  Every time he climbed a mountain, he sat for a while to take in the view. The love of silence filled his mind, and he reveled in the feeling of how big the world really was.

  In the forests he paused to soak up the life teeming around him. Rays of sunlight bursting through the trees. Leaves blowing in the wind, accompanied by a squirrel or deer foraging. It made him feel like he was part of nature — part of something bigger.

  The crash of a table and a man cursing brought him out of his reverie. Shaking his head, he often wondered why more people couldn’t see the world the way he did. Why couldn’t they see the beauty in nature?

  Two men cursed one another before fists began to fly.

  Why are they so caught up in their own little lives,

  He looked at the King’s Palace. People had already begun to line up, eagerly ready to receive their morning ration of food.

  The church bell rang in the distance.

  Gong!

  Birds flew, scattering from the steeple.

  Gong!

  People began to pour into the market.

  Gong!

  Sounds from the market almost overwhelmed the noise of the bell.

  Gong!

  It’s time, he thought.

  Climbing down from the roof, Lucian made his way into the busy square. With his head down, he waded through the crowd, occasionally bumping shoulders as he made his way to the center of the market.

  Gong!

  There, in the middle of the square, he stepped into a large marble fountain. Untying the stones from his sash, he clenched them in both hands.

  Gong!

  Last chance.

  A statue of the King stood before him. The stone figure stood proud with its chin held high. Its right hand rested on a sword, pointed to the ground.

  If you do this, there’s no going back, Lucian confirmed to himself.

  Gong!

  “Sarie would want you to be a better man,” the memory of Thomas’s voice sounded, suddenly clear in his mind.

  The world went still.

  “God wants you to be…”

  In the busy market square, filled with people laughing, cursing, and trading, one man stood still.

  He closed his eyes.

  Gong!

  Gong!

  Gong!

  “I’m late!” Thomas said, throwing a tunic on.

  “Can’t you stay and eat breakfast?” Jennie asked. “I made eggs and bacon.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, I can’t. It’s a big day. Lots of people in town ready to spend money now that winter’s over,” he said, scrambling around. “My keys,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Have you seen my shop keys?”

  Jennie found them in their usual spot and held them up.

  “Thank you, dear,” he said then kissed her. “I love you. See you tonight.”

  “I love you, too. Be careful,” she said, then smiled.

  He nodded, letting go of her hand.

  Gathering his things, he almost tripped over his youngest child on the way out the door. The boy had a piece of coal from the fireplace and was drawing on a piece of paper. Black dust was all over the floor.

  “Son, where did you get that piece of paper? You know that costs money.”

  “I found it,” the child said.

  “And this mess,” Thomas scolded.

  “It’s okay, dear, I’ll get it,” Jennie said.

  Thomas looked at his wife, then patted the boy’s head. “You mind your mother. Be a good boy.”

  “I will.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  “Love you too, daddy!”

  As he opened the door, the church bell began to ring.

  He hurriedly made his way to the market.

  The King stood on the top steps of the palace. Two members of the Order stood on each side of him. His brow furrowed upon seeing the people line up for his generosity.

  With gold chains rattling, he made his way down the steps. The gold trim on his burgundy, velvet clothes reflected the morning sunlight. The gold crown glistened brightly with rubies and emeralds.

  He stopped, maintaining distance from the line, close enough to where his booming voice could be heard.

  “What happened last night will not happen again,” he said, eyeing the crowd. “There will be order.”

  The church bell rang.

  He cursed at it under his breath. The bell chime was almost deafening this close. He raised his voice to a yell.

  “Do not take my generosity for granted!”

  The crowd began yelling back. Jeers and curses flew as the line became more frustrated.

  The bell still rang.

  “You will be civilized or you will be punished!” King George said.

  A few people pushed forward to get food as the mob became more hostile. A few stones were thrown towards the king, but missed. Two members of the Order stepped in front to protect him.

  “You ingrates!” The King cursed. “How dare you! I’ll have you all thrown...” He stopped mid-sentence as his eyes went to the market.

  A few people in the mob stopped and turned to the west. The hostility ceased. Everyone went still, eyes fixed on the sky.

  Two beams of light shot into the sky. One red, with flames that danced up and around the beam. The other, gray, and looked as though there was a swirling wind surrounding the beam. Tiny bolts of electricity flashed inside the wind.

  As quick as the beams appeared, they vanished. Silence filled the air.

  Then an explosion of sound filled the capital. A pillar of flame rose from the market. Screams could be heard in the distance as numerous shops and buildings were enveloped in fire.

  The King gripped one of his guards. “Grab your men, Captain, immediately!”

  “Your Grace,” the man said, then ran into the palace.

  The other looked at the king. “What do we do, Your Grace?” he said.

  The king didn’t reply. He didn’t move. He stood motionless and watched his city burn.

  The market was silent. Only the occasional pop from a piece of wood could be heard. The whole square was covered in a blanket of ash and smoke.

  Lucian stood in the fountain, black clothes dripping water. He had soaked himself to keep safe from the fire, though he didn’t know whether it mattered or not.

  He looked at his hands.

  I should be dead, he thought as they shook uncontrollably. He was amazed that his body was able to handle the power of the stones. To his knowledge, anyone who had ever tried to use two at once didn’t survive. The stones slipped from
his hands, dropping into the fountain.

  The statue of the King had fallen, half of it charred black from the fire. Lucian sat in its place.

  As the smoke cleared, he began to look around. Hundreds of black, burned piles lie about. Some were different sizes and some laid on top of one another. Others looked distorted and contorted.

  He felt like he was inside some horrific painting. Nothing moved. Nobody bought or sold, yelled or laughed. There was no fighting. No smiles. The people vanished from existence in an instant. They didn’t even have time to turn around and run away; they just stood there, watching, as the beams shot up to the sky.

  Couldn’t they feel the danger? Why didn’t someone try to stop it? Why did no one even try to run?

  Lucian sat there, numb.

  As the smoke cleared, people began to appear. Screams and cries for the dead pierced Lucian’s skull.

  The King arrived with the Order. A dozen palace guards marched behind them. They stopped upon entering the square and covered their nose from the stench, their eyes widening in horror. Only the King and his captain held their resolve; their eyes were fixed on Lucian.

  “You did this?” the captain barked. “Who are you?”

  Lucian didn’t reply.

  “Speak! What happened?” the captain yelled, his anger flashing. “Why!”

  Lucian sat, emotionless.

  The captain turned to the King. “He’s Dark Society. This was evil magic here.” He glared at Lucian. ‘”Let me execute him now.”

  The King nodded.

  “Bring me this man,” the captain commanded. “He is to be executed immediately.”

  Five soldiers made their way to the center, wading through the bodies. A few of the soldiers nearly wretched at the crunching sounds under their boots. With swords drawn, they surrounded the man in black. They tensed as he stood.

  Lucian held his hands out to the side and allowed them to take him.

  A woman screamed. It was Jennie. She rocked back and forth, holding the remains of Thomas’s corpse.

  Lucian stopped, the pain almost dropping him to his knees. “He wasn’t supposed to be here,” he said to himself.

  “Shut your mouth, demon bastard!” A guard cursed and pushed him on.

  Lucian lowered his head. Guards spat and cursed as he was led to the executioner’s block which lay to the side of the palace steps.

  A soldier kicked Lucian in the back of his leg, causing him to fall to his knees. The captain stood beside him.

  “You never answered my questions,” he said and kicked Lucian in the stomach.

  All the air flew from Lucian’s lungs as he fell on his side in pain.

  “Who are you?”

  Lucian, struggling to breathe, slowly got back to his knees. He stared at the church ahead of him.

  “Why’d you kill all those people?” The captain kicked Lucian in the face.

  Lucian’s head snapped back before he fell over, backwards.

  “Why!”

  Dazed, Lucian rolled to his side and spat blood. He struggled back to his knees and looked up at the captain.

  “You bastard!” the captain yelled and then commenced to beating Lucian’s head with his gauntlet fist.

  “Enough!” the King said. “If he won’t talk, then be done with him.”

  The captain, breathing deeply, stood up straight and pulled his sword out. Two guards held Lucian as they pushed his head onto the block.

  “Stop!” Lucian said.

  “Too late,” the captain said.

  “I demand a trial.”

  “Sorry, you don’t have that right,” the captain said as he raised his blade.

  “Captain,” the King called, “he will stand trial.”

  “Your Grace,” the captain said, “you cannot allow...”

  “Do not presume to tell me what I can or cannot allow!” the King snapped. “The law is the law. Take him away.”

  The guards yanked Lucian up and led him around the far side of the palace to the prison cells.

  Rounding the palace, Lucian looked up at the church. He noticed a man, dressed in white, standing on the balcony.

  He thought that must be the High Priest, but as he squinted his eyes, he swore that it looked like Victor. The man turned and walked back into the church.

  It couldn’t have been, he thought.

  Blood dripped from Lucian’s face as he dropped his head. The sound of boots stomping and metal clanging accompanied him all the way to the depths of the palace.

  Twelve

  Arkin awoke to a boot in the side of his ribs.

  “Get up, boy,” Torin said.

  “Damnit,” Arkin grumbled. “Again?”

  Torin cracked his knuckles.

  “You really gotta work on how you wake people up,” Arkin said, then sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  “Get dressed and meet me on the training grounds,” Torin said before walking out.

  Arkin threw on his tattered clothes and hurried outside. The sun had just begun to rise, casting its morning rays upon the wet grass.

  Torin stood alone in the middle of the large, flat ground. Arkin looked for Lyla or Paul, but found neither. Just the bear.

  “Where’s Lyla?” Arkin asked, walking up to Torin.

  “Not here,” Torin said in a sarcastic tone. “You obviously like her. She would be a distraction.”

  “What?” Arkin said, nervously. “Why would I like... I don’t...”

  “Shut up,” Torin said. “Training starts now.”

  “What are we gonna work on?” Arkin asked. “Swords or hand to hand?”

  “Not we, boy,” Torin said, then pointed up the hill. Paul walked towards them, carrying a hickory stick. He stepped to Arkin.

  “Who are you?” Paul said.

  “Grandpa, you know who...”

  Paul cracked him in the shoulder with the stick.

  Pain shot up Arkin’s arm. “What’s going on?” he said, rubbing the blow.

  “Why are you here?” Paul asked.

  “You know why. I don’t understand...”

  The stick whirred, hitting Arkin in the side of the knee.

  He fell to the ground with a cry. Looking up at Torin, his eyes cried for help, but found none. The big man idly stood with his arms crossed.

  “Who are you?” Paul asked again.

  “Arkin.”

  Paul struck him on the side of the head with the stick.

  Rolling on the ground, Arkin nearly blacked out. White dots appeared in his vision as he felt his head throb in pain.

  “Why are you here?”

  Arkin didn’t answer. He held his head down, crouched on his knees and elbows.

  The stick whipped across his back, causing him to fall flat on his stomach.

  “Who are you?”

  Crack!

  “WHY are you here?” Paul raised his voice.

  Crack!

  Crack!

  Arkin gritted his teeth, his nostrils flared.

  Crack!

  His fingers dug into the earth. He looked at Paul, teary eyed and full of rage.

  Paul cocked his head, sizing him up for a moment before he spoke again.

  “Who are you, boy?”

  Arkin lunged at Paul.

  The old man brought the stick up to defend himself, but it was no use. It broke across Arkin’s shoulder as he tackled him.

  That’s it, boy, Paul thought right before he soul tapped.

  As soon as they hit the ground, Paul flipped him, his foot pressing firm against Arkin’s chest.

  Arkin flew about twenty paces before crashing into the ground. Immediately jumping up, he ran toward Paul at incredible speed.

  Just like your father, Paul thought.

  The Prophet bent to pick up the pieces of the broken stick and held one in each hand.

  Arkin let his fists go, swinging wildly.

  Paul checked each one, mindful of his foot positioning. Relentlessly, Arkin pushed forward. Paul timed his strikes,
buckled him with a blow to the knee, then cracked him upside the head. Arkin fell flat, motionless.

  Controlling his breath for a few brief moments, Paul returned his heart rate to normal. He knelt to check on Arkin.

  “You kill him?” Torin asked, a little humor noted in his tone.

  Paul chuckled. “No, he’s just knocked out.”

  “I keep telling people not to call him ‘boy’,” Torin said.

  “I had to push him,” Paul said, then looked at his stick. “He broke my favorite staff.”

  “I hated that damned stick,” Torin said.

  “Yes, but it has beat good sense into many men over the years,” Paul said, frowning. “I’ve had this forever, before the Order even. This piece of wood helped create the Order.”

  “I think it still works pretty good,” Torin jeered. “The poor guy will have a knot on his head for a week.”

  “I may have overdone it a bit,” Paul said. “It’s been awhile since I’ve fought.”

  Arkin began to move. Holding his head, he got to his knees. “What happened?” he groaned.

  “You soul tapped, Arkin. I was forced to do the same to defend myself,” Paul said, helping him up. “You kept pressing me, so, I knocked you out.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” Arkin said.

  “I’m sorry, son, I had to push you to the limit. I think I know who you are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Deep down in your soul, you’re a fighter,” Paul stated. “Everyone has their own special gifts and talents that God has blessed them with. Unfortunately, most never discover them, or never use them to their full potential.”

  “So, all I need to soul tap is to know that I’m a fighter?” Arkin asked.

  “It’s more than knowing. It’s faith and belief.” Paul tapped his finger on Arkin’s chest. “Heart, body, mind, and spirit all working as one. Understanding why you are here and for what purpose.”

  “I don’t know if I get what you’re saying,” Arkin said, confused. “I was born to be a fighter?”

  Paul clicked his teeth, searching for words. “Have you ever heard of a mother saving her child by lifting a heavy horse cart from it? How could a woman, or even a man, lift that much weight?”

  He continued. “Or in a battle when a few men stand against an army of invaders. They hold the line and protect the ones they love, giving them precious time to retreat.” Paul held Arkin at arm’s length. “Stories of people that defy all odds and even logic. They have an innate sense of their soul’s purpose and who they are. It just takes a trigger to wake them up.”