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

by Matt Moss

  He took a few slow steps and grabbed the cold steel bars. Looking around, he wondered if Hell resembled this place.

  Somewhere, deeper in the dungeon, he heard a scream.

  A slow steady drip from the ceiling kept time with the pounding in his head. He noticed three cells across the hall, each with a pile of straw and a bucket.

  He looked around his cell and found nothing of the sort. Just cold hard stone.

  He limped over to the back corner and sat down. His mind was blank, thinking of nothing as he watched the torch in complete numbness.

  Time has ceased to exist, and after a while, he closed his eyes in search of some rest.

  Images of the marketplace, fire and burnt bodies, screams and horrified faces, flashed in his mind.

  His eyes snapped open and a cold chill ran down his spine. He spent the next few hours trying to push the event to the back of his mind. It was an old technique he had mastered to deal with the pain. And the guilt.

  With the memory tucked away, he closed his eyes again, exhausted.

  New images flashed, but not of the terror in the market. These memories were old and dusty. Filled with broken cobwebs. People and faces from years ago resurrected from somewhere he thought was gone. Somewhere safe.

  He jerked, eyes wide, shaking in a cold sweat.

  You deserve this, a voice in his head said. He couldn’t tell if it was his or not. This is your life. Look at the people, it whispered.

  Lucian ignored it. He couldn’t look.

  Look at them.

  He shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice echoing off stone.

  Look at them!

  His resolve melted and he surrendered, dropping the shield that he had been carrying for years. He closed his eyes. Memories flooded his mind like a raging river. It started in the market, then worked its way back in time, pausing for every person he had killed or evil deed he had committed. It was as if the souls of the deceased, suppressed in the darkest place in his mind, were finally free, coming to light in search of justice.

  He struggled to break this train of thought. His whole being wanted it to stop, but he couldn’t make it.

  Look at the lives lost.

  His gut twisted and he railed on the floor at the visions which seemed to last for an eternity.

  “Enough,” he pleaded, a whisper.

  He saw his friends and their smiling faces from a past life. They were happy to see him. Smiles turned to horror as they became covered in blood.

  He saw the Prophet screaming, lost, with empty eye sockets.

  Fire was everywhere. The images kept coming.

  Levi stood in front of his shop at The Crossing.

  Lucian ran to him for help. He stopped a few feet away as his old friend turned to face him.

  Levi smiled warmly at his friend as he once had. He held his hand out for Lucian.

  Reaching for it, Lucian noticed Levi’s face change. The smile disappeared, suddenly twisting in a pained confusion. Looking down, Lucian found his hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword that pierced Levi’s chest.

  He jerked away, like it was hot iron, and his old friend fell to the ground.

  “No more!” Lucian screamed. He tried to open his eyes, attempting to escape, but couldn’t.

  Flames were all around now. Dead bodies lie scattered about. He ran, searching for a way out, blood splashing as it was half way up his boots and rising. Everywhere he turned was a wall of fire.

  He frantically looked around as the blood rose over his waist. Spinning around, he saw his master standing with a smile on his face.

  Lucian reached out for help and Victor took his hands. He then placed one hand behind Lucian’s head and baptized him. Lucian screamed as the taste of blood filled his mouth.

  He rose from the blood and found that it was all gone; Victor, the blood, the bodies, the flames, all vanished.

  He stood on top of a mountain, the full moon illuminating the earth. He looked down to find himself standing on the edge.

  “Lucian,” a soft voice said.

  Lucian turned to find Sarie standing behind him, her naked body bathed in moonlight. He moved to speak, but her beauty stole the voice in his throat.

  She smiled and reached for him. As he took her hands, her arms went limp. Her face twisted in shocked panic as a red line appeared on her neck. She began to choke on blood.

  Lucian tried to grab her as she twisted and fell of the edge.

  “Sarie, No!” He screamed as her body plummeted out of sight.

  “Hey. Hey!” The ring of the cudgel on iron brought Lucian back. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll gag you myself. After I cut your tongue out,” the young guard said. He threw a plate of gray mush and a cup of dirty water into Lucian’s cell. “Here’s your supper,” the guard said, then spat on the spilled contents, laughing as he walked back down the hall.

  Lucian sat in the dark corner, his mind reeling over what he just saw. His eyes ached. Rubbing them, he realized his face was wet.

  It had been eighteen years since he had last cried. He thought he was incapable of it now. For a moment there, when he saw Sarie fondly smiling, standing before him on the mountain, all of the guilt and sorrow of his sins faded away. He finally felt forgiven.

  He felt loved once again.

  When she fell, those feelings fell with her. The guilt returned. The feeling of love was replaced with his familiar cold hate. He knew her death was his fault, but it was the Order and the Rebellion that caused it. He hated himself, but he hated the Order and everything it stood for even more.

  They took her from him.

  Time passed. The guards brought food and water five more times. He touched none of it, content to sit while brooding in the corner. He didn’t sleep, fueled by his anger. The food came a sixth time.

  “At least drink so you don’t kill over,” the old guard said, setting the cup down gently. He always placed the meals down instead of throwing them like the younger guard did.

  After a moment with no reply, the old man shook his head and walked away.

  How long have I been down here? Lucian thought. What were they waiting on?

  Another shift change. Lucian heard the young guard arguing with someone as they walked down the hall towards his cell.

  “Captain’s orders,” the guard said. “No one’s allowed to see him.”

  “I am a man of the church, commissioned to beseech the prisoner on behalf of his soul,” the man declared.

  A priest, Lucian thought.

  “Do you deny any man the right to ask for forgiveness?” the priest chided.

  “Well, no. But orders are orders.”

  They stopped in the hall, out of sight.

  “I have patronage from High Priest John himself,” the priest said, unfolding a letter. “Surely you wouldn’t deny His Holiness.”

  After a pause, the young guard spoke. “You’ve got five minutes. I never saw you.”

  A hooded man in a priest’s robe came into sight and pulled a letter from his pocket.

  “A message, from a friend,” he said, nervously looking around.

  “I have no friends,” Lucian said coldly.

  The priest made a hand signal.

  Lucian stood and walked to the bars.

  “You’re Dark Society?” Lucian said, noticing that the man’s face resembled a rat.

  “We share the same Master,” the rat priest said, sliding the letter through the bars.

  “Hand me that torch,” Lucian told him.

  Lucian walked to the middle of the cell, holding the torch with his back to the bars. The letter held Victor’s wax seal. He tore it open.

  My son, you have not been forgotten or forsaken. Our hour of victory is upon us. The beloved high priest has been murdered by an unknown assassin. The only evidence is a piece of ruby. That ruby belongs to a dagger found on your person as you were incarcerated. The Prophet will be arriving to attend the trial. You are to tell the king, and his jury, that he gave you the
dagger and told you to murder the high priest. The rest of the Order will fall shortly after. Do not forget why you are here. You still have a job to do.

  V.

  Lucian held the paper to the flame, burning the letter, then he handed the torch back to the priest.

  “How long have I been down here?” he asked.

  “Three days,” Rat said.

  “Leave me,” Lucian said, turning away.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Rat said. “I know...”

  Reaching through the cage, Lucian jerked the rat priest, slamming his face against the bars.

  “You don’t know shit,” Lucian spat, “and even less about me!”

  Piss ran down Rat’s leg.

  Lucian released him, then walked to his corner. Rat straightened his robe and replaced the torch before leaving. He scurried away with shame on his face and his clothes.

  Lucian sat, pondering the letter over and over in his head.

  He clenched his jaw, shaking with rage, as his knuckles turned white.

  The next time supper came, he drank and ate his fill as best the meager meal would allow. For the first night in many nights, he slept peacefully.

  Sixteen

  The Gauntlet towered over the training grounds under a gray, cloud filled sky.

  Arkin stood in awe at the size and complexity of the wooden beast.

  “Impressive, right?” Cain said standing next to him with his arms crossed. “It was built before I got here, but I heard it took two years to complete.”

  “It sure is something,” Arkin marveled. “How far have you been?”

  “Cliffhanger ladder, stage three.”

  “Any advice?” Arkin asked.

  “Don’t fall.” Cain smiled. “Watch Ruban here while I try to walk you through it.”

  The two mingled through the crowd of onlookers and participants.

  Gauntlet Day was viewed as a day of rest compared to a day of training. But it was also a competition. Nearly all of the five hundred members of the Order living at the Grand Highlands, along with the two hundred town folk, showed up for the event which only took place once a year.

  Bets were being made on which of the competitors would make it the farthest.

  Cain guided Arkin to the front where they could get a good view.

  “Let’s go, Ruban!” a spectator cheered.

  Ruban stood on the starting platform. He took a few deep breaths, then took a confident step to begin his run.

  “First is Seven Steps to rope swing,” Cain commentated.

  Ruban jumped from step to step, each one a wood log sawed at various lengths and disappearing into a pool of water. On the last step he jumped to grab a rope, swung over the water, and landed on a small platform.

  He took a deep breath before tackling the next obstacle.

  “Spider Climb,” Cain said.

  An inclined rope net was pulled taut across another pool of water.

  Jumping to grasp the net, Ruban used his hands and feet to secure himself. Hanging upside down, he made his way to the other side. Various cheers rose among the crowd and Arkin noticed money changing hands.

  “Now he’s at the Reeds,” Cain said. “It’s harder than it looks.”

  A cluster of poles rose from the water, standing like reeds in a pond. They were the size of a man’s arm and sanded smooth. Ruban made it halfway, then began to struggle. His sloppy technique caused him to constantly fight from slipping. He fell and hit the water.

  The crowd reacted to it in different ways, depending on their wager. Arkin’s hands began to sweat, feeling the nervous pressure of performing in front of so many people.

  “Man, if he had made that, he would have been at stage two,” Cain said.

  “When I pass stage one,” Arkin said confidently, “I will need to know what’s next. Tell me about stage two.”

  “Well, since you’re so sure,” Cain said, raising an eyebrow, “stage two is mostly...”

  “Arkin,” Torin said, walking from behind. “You’re after the next runner. You ready?”

  Arkin’s dropped his jaw in reply, wishing that he had more time for Cain to explain the course. Torin led him to the starting platform.

  “Good luck,” Cain yelled as they dissolved into the crowd.

  The next man began his run. Arkin noticed that he looked a little shaky on the Seven Steps, but eventually jumped to grab the rope swing. He misjudged the landing, letting go too late and over shot it to splash into the water.

  Jeers and laughs could be heard among the mixed sounds coming from the crowd.

  Arkin tensed in nervous anticipation.

  “Relax, boy, you’ll be fine,” Torin said and clapped him on the back.

  Arkin stepped onto the starting platform and glanced out into the crowd. A few vendors had shops set up, selling food and drink. Most of the people were preoccupied among themselves, but a good number were looking at him, sizing him up.

  “Wipe the boy’s mouth Torin,” a man from the crowd jeered. “He’s still got breast milk on it!”

  Laughter broke out. Arkin flushed and turned back to Torin, ready to quit.

  The big man gave him a nod of confidence.

  Arkin nodded back. Torin’s gesture wasn’t much, but it was enough to get his feet moving.

  In a flash, Arkin traversed Seven Steps with ease. He then made Spider Climb look easy. Jumping onto the first pole at the Reeds, he used his feet as pincers, his knees out wide to keep the pressure. Carefully moving from pole to pole, he jumped to plant his feet on the platform. The crowd was hushed, though Arkin couldn’t hear them anyway.

  He was unaware of anything other than his body and the task at hand.

  The last obstacle, a curved wall taller than two men, dared him to fail.

  He paused to judge it for a moment before exploding into a run. His steps, fast and sure, ran up the curved wall. He jumped, exploding up and reached with everything he had.

  His fingertips caught and he pulled himself to the top.

  The crowd erupted with cheers, applauding his performance.

  Smiling, he stood tall atop stage one. He raised his fists in victory.

  Torin and Cain met him as he jumped down.

  “Well done,” Torin said with a smile.

  “Well done?” Cain noted, “That’s all you have to say, Torin? Nobody passes stage one on their first try.”

  Arkin swelled with pride, containing his accomplishment to a simple grin.

  “Alright, that was very well done,” Torin said, “but let’s not get carried away, he still has to run stage two.”

  Cain wrapped an arm around Arkin, crediting him for his run, and began to explain the next stage as they walked off.

  Rico stepped in front of them.

  “Damn good run,” he said as he clapped Arkin on the shoulder. “You just made me a lot of money. See, everyone else thought you would fall early.” He punched Arkin on the arm. “But I saw you carry those logs and knew you had it in you. I already placed a bet that you’ll beat the next stage as well.”

  As soon as Rico came, he left, disappearing into the crowd.

  “He sure does have a lot of faith in me,” Arkin said, scratching his head.

  “You’ve made a good impression since you joined,” Cain said. “First impressions are always important.” They continued their walk. “Now, stage two is mostly upper body. You gotta be quick. Don’t get stuck hanging or else your grip will tire out.”

  “Got it,” Arkin said. He remembered watching his father train when he was just a boy. He used an oak tree branch to do pull-ups. As Arkin grew into a young man, he joined his father in training. One time, he even beat his old man, doing fifty-two pull-ups. That was before.

  “Arkin, you hear me?” Cain asked.

  “Huh, yea,” Arkin said, breaking from his reverie. He wished his father were here.

  “You ok?”

  “I’m fine.” He faked a smile.

  “Ruban’s about to go, so
that means you’re after the next guy.”

  “Oh, alright. I’m ready,” he said absentmindedly. “Where do I start?”

  Cain gave him a puzzled look, then pointed to the starting platform.

  Arkin got into place. He looked for his grandfather, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Nice run, earlier,” the man going before Arkin said while both of them stood on the starting platform watching Ruban.

  “Thanks,” Arkin replied.

  The crowd reacted as Ruban fell into the water.

  “Well, that’s my cue,” the man said. “Good luck with your run.”

  “You too,” Arkin said, but the man was already gone. Arkin scanned the crowd, his mind in a fog. It seemed more people were watching him now after his performance on the first stage.

  The sound of the man hitting the water brought him out of his daze. His nervousness returned.

  Then he caught sight of his grandfather, conversing with Torin. He was waving his arms, clearly upset, with a stark look on his face.

  Paul looked in Arkin’s direction. Arkin threw his arm up in a wave, but the two men turned and made their way to the Lodge.

  An uneasy feeling settled in Arkin’s gut. Initially, his pride was hurt due to their lack of consideration, but his rationalization told him there must be something else, some kind of pressing issue. Either way, stage two was the last thing on his mind.

  He thought about just dropping out of his run, but figured that would cause too much of a scene. And he didn’t want to be labeled as a quitter. Instead, he made finishing his goal so he could check on his grandfather.

  He breathed, removing the crowd and the noise, leaving him completely focused.

  If anyone had asked him how he did it, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them. He didn’t even realize he was through until his feet landed on the finish platform. Looking around, he found the crowd stunned.

  As Arkin took off towards the lodge, he heard Cain yell his name. People moved to create a path as Arkin ran through.

  He burst through the door. Torin stood, unconcerned with the disturbance, reading a letter in his hand.

  Paul eyed Arkin. “Judging by your appearance, you passed stage two. How?”

  “I… don’t know,” Arkin said. “I acted instinctively and didn’t really think about it.”