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

by Matt Moss

  George laughed. “I told him not much, just sitting around the fire, drinking fruit juice,” he said.

  “I think the fruit juice gave us away,” Paul said. They shared a laugh.

  “You boys think you’re men?” George mimicked his father. “He just took the wine, and left. That’s what scared me,” George said. “I knew I had it coming in the morning.”

  “You would think the splitting headache the next day would be punishment enough,” Paul said, shaking his head. “My father still took a thin strip of leather and whipped me up and down.”

  “I thought mine would do the same, or worse,” George said. “But he sat me down and said, ‘A real man does not over indulge on the pleasures of the flesh, lest he be a fool. God did not create us in his image to slack our lusts and act like beasts. A real man keeps a clear head and a clean soul.’”

  Paul nodded slowly. “He was a smart man.”

  “You know,” George said, “I saw him in a cup every once in a while, but I never saw him drunk.”

  Paul walked to the table, then poured two cups of the King’s wine. George cocked an eyebrow at the act.

  “Everything in moderation,” Paul said, raising his cup. “Let tomorrow worry about itself.”

  The King smiled and raised his cup. They drank, and for the first time in many nights, George savored the wine.

  “I wish Levi were here,” George said, pouring another round. “He was always wise beyond his years. May I ask you a question?”

  “Anything,” Paul said.

  “How do you live with the pain of losing a child?”

  “Day by day, old friend, and knowing that God has a plan,” Paul said, then took a drink. “Everything happens for a reason.” He smiled. “In losing my son, I gained a grandson. He’s so much like his father.”

  “I hope God’s reason for all this madness is revealed to us soon,” the King said, then stood. “Come, let us walk and speak of better things.”

  Paul stood and the King threw his arm around the Prophet’s shoulder as they left the room.

  “Tell me about this grandson of yours.

  Eighteen

  On the morning of the trial, the King, dressed in his full attire, sat on his throne, slightly reclined on his left arm. The throne, shaped out of a giant stone, weighed so much that it could not be moved by hand. It was black and white, due to the stones nature, and lined throughout with the opposing colors. The high back and curved seat made it feel more comfortable than just, ‘sitting on a rock’, as Paul always referred to it.

  The giant room stood mostly bare, save for the foundation pillars and a few tapestries. A lone chair sat in front of the throne atop a red carpet. The red extended from the throne to the massive oak doors at the palace entrance fifty paces away.

  In most trials, chairs would line either side of the whole length of the red carpet to accommodate the room filled with people, but this trial was different.

  There was no deafening sound of conversation and foot traffic before the accused entered the room. There were no small bets between the merchants being placed on whether the verdict would be guilty or not.

  Only ten chairs with the capital’s most prominent people sat on the side of the red carpet near the throne. They would decide the fate of the accused.

  The Prophet sat to the King’s right with Torin beside him.

  The silence in the room finally broke when the doors swung open, allowing six people to enter. The man in chains kept his head down as he walked the red carpet. His dark hair covered any emotion that he might have worn on his face.

  Every eye was on him as he made his walk.

  His clothes were rent, and he had a slight limp, but even with his head down, there was an air of confidence about him. Maybe the rumors were true, judging by some of the members shifting nervously in their seats.

  Some said he was a demon. Others, the angel of death, sent by the Almighty to cleanse mankind of his sinful ways.

  Paul, the Prophet, knew who the man was as soon as he walked through the door. Though it had been eighteen years, and he could not see the man’s face, still he knew.

  The accused sat in the chair, head down, his hands relaxed in his lap with the weight of the chains binding his wrists.

  The room remained silent, leaving the jury to anxiously await the King to begin the trial.

  King George looked at the man, the murderer. He was sizing him up, but something about the man unnerved him.

  Why did he not run after the attack, he thought? What was the purpose? Was it his sick, twisted pleasure to kill so many people, or was he ordered to do so? If he was ordered, then by whom?

  George’s mind struggled to put the pieces together.

  Paul broke the King’s daze by clearing his throat. George looked at Paul, then back to the man in the chair.

  “The accused stands trial for the mass murder of innocent people and destruction of property,” the commanding baritone of the King rang out. “If found guilty, the punishment is death by execution.”

  The room, silent.

  The King looked at the jury. “We have all lost loved ones in the attack. Our friends, our family,” he said. “I implore you now to put emotions aside and judge this man solely in accordance with the law.”

  The King looked back at the man and took a deep breath, preparing to begin.

  “State your name,” he said.

  A moment passed before the man spoke. “Lucian” he said, head still down.

  “Your full name.”

  “That is my full name.”

  “Your father’s name?” George asked.

  “I never knew my father.”

  “Mother?”

  “I never knew my mother.”

  “Somebody raised you,” George stated. “Where do you come from?”

  “I raised him,” Paul interjected.

  Turning, the King gaped at Paul. The jury, shocked, began to murmur.

  “He was left orphaned at the Order’s gates as a baby,” the Prophet said. “We took him in and cared for him. Being around the same age as my son, they grew together as best friends. Both were trained and served the Order together, until the Rebellion.” Paul met George’s gaze. “I haven’t seen him since.”

  The King looked away, deep in thought.

  “Are you a member of the Dark Society,” he asked the prisoner.

  Listening intently for the answer to that question, Torin leaned forward, hands clasped, arms on his knees.

  Finding no reply, the King decided to take a more direct approach. “Did you commit what you stand accused for?”

  “Yes,” Lucian replied with no hesitation.

  The room erupted.

  “Kill him!” someone cried from the jury. “It’s over, he admitted it.”

  “Let his head roll,” another shouted.

  One man stood up. “Burn in hell!” he cursed, then spat at Lucian before lunging toward him. Two guards held him back as he screamed. “He killed my wife!”

  “Enough!” the King commanded. “Compose yourselves, or I’ll have you all in the palace cells.”

  The King’s intensity regained control of the room. He returned his gaze to Lucian.

  “Why?” he asked after collecting himself.

  Lucian raised his head and met the King’s gaze.

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing,” he said. “Why do you enslave the people with your taxes and control what they do? What they say? Why does the Church debase the old Faith and threaten everyone’s souls with damnation unless they buy into this new Religion?” He looked at Torin. “Why do men do what they do?” he said, then looked at Paul.

  The King stood in anger. “You are the one standing trial! Do not presume you have the right to ask questions or point an accusing finger!”

  The Prophet spoke in attempt to cool the King’s temper. “How did you come by the stones, Lucian?”

  “They were given to me.”

  “By whom?” the King deman
ded.

  “By the one who commands me,” Lucian said. “By my master.”

  “So you are not alone,” the King noted. “You are working for someone.”

  “We all have a master,” Lucian stated as he eyed the three men in front of him. “Whether it be fame and glory. Money. Power. Control.” He gestured with his hands. “We all bow before that which we serve.”

  “Who commands you?” King George asked.

  “The same who commanded me to kill your beloved high priest.”

  The room exploded.

  Every member of the jury rose to their feet, yelling curses. Threats were made, causing the guards to control the situation in haste.

  Lucian raised his voice so all could hear. “The same who started the Rebellion in the Order. The same who seeks to have power and control over you all.”

  George looked at the jury. They were on the verge of breaking. He had to end this now before it got out of hand.

  He used his loudest commanding voice. “WHO COMMANDS YOU?!”

  It was enough to make the jury stop for a moment in fear of the King and anticipation for the answer.

  A half-smile crept onto Lucian’s face. “The one who commands me is the same one who sits beside you, now, Your Grace.”

  The room fell dumbstruck as every eye turned to the Prophet.

  Torin jumped up. “Liar!” he accused.

  Paul grabbed his arm, urging him to sit back down.

  “I have known this man, counting him counsellor and friend for many years,” George said. “I do not believe your lies. Without valid proof, your words are wind.”

  Lucian sat, impassive. Emotionless.

  “You admitted to killing High Priest John,” the King said. “When?”

  “The night before I attacked the market,” Lucian replied. “I buried a dagger in his chest.”

  The King beckoned one of the guards. “Were there any weapons found on him when you took him into custody?” George asked him.

  “I don’t know, Your Grace,” the guard replied.

  “Find the captain and bring him here,” the King said. “Tell him to bring anything he found on the prisoner.”

  “Your Grace,” the guard said, and hurried from the room.

  “I’m curious,” George said after a moment. “Why did you allow yourself to be captured in the market? Why not run?”

  Lucian’s gaze left the king and met the Prophet’s. “I’m done taking orders,” he stated.

  “So you are ready to die then?” the King asked.

  “I’ve been ready for a long time,” Lucian replied.

  The doors flew open. The captain marched to stand in front of the King.

  “One of the guards said they found this upon searching him,” the captain said as he handed the King a dagger.

  The King turned the familiar blade over in his hands, examining it.

  “I know this dagger,” he said, almost hushed.

  His hands found a chipped piece in the ruby that lay in the hilt. He remembered the piece that was found near John.

  “This is the dagger my father gave you upon the birth of the Order,” George said as he looked at Paul with confusion and hurt. “How did he come by this?”

  The Prophet was taken aback. ”I do not know,” he said, looking down. “It was lost to me many years ago.”

  The jury began to murmur among themselves.

  “It’s the damn Order’s fault!” one said, pointing his finger at the Prophet. “They’ve been abusing their power for years!”

  “Nobody should be above the law!” another yelled.

  “The evidence is there. It’s all there,” a big man said, stepping to the front. “I say kill them both!”

  „Kill ‘em both!” Yells of agreement rang through the hall. “Down with the Order!”

  King George looked at the Prophet. “I’m sorry, old friend,” he said.

  “Captain,” George said, never taking his eyes off Paul. “Take the Prophet to the cells. The two prisoners are to receive no visitors whatsoever.”

  The captain hesitated, unprepared by the gravity of the situation. “Your Grace,” he said, then reluctantly moved towards Paul.

  Torin jumped to meet him, his ferocious axe coming to his hands.

  “Get back!” he threatened.

  The captain drew his sword. “”Guards!” he cried.

  Five guards swarmed around Torin and Paul, swords drawn.

  “You’re going to need more than that!” Torin said, poised to attack.

  The guards edged closer.

  Torin shifted to strike.

  “Torin!” the Prophet pleaded. “Stand down.”

  The big man remained unmoved.

  Paul grabbed his arm. “It’s alright. I have foreseen this,” Paul said with as much conviction as he could muster.

  Torin looked at him with glazed eyes.

  “It is the Almighty’s will. It is for a reason,” Paul said.

  Torin’s resolve melted and his arm fell, allowing the axe to hit the floor with a loud clang. The guards seized the prophet and Lucian, then made their way to the palace cells.

  Torin walked beside Paul as they left, adamant not to leave his side until he was forced to.

  The captain bowed and spun on his heel to follow them out of the room, leaving the jury with nothing to do but talk amongst themselves.

  The King eyed them. “Get out.” he commanded, tired of this whole ordeal.

  They obeyed, leaving the room empty, save for the King.

  George sat in disbelief. For a moment he thought it might have been a dream. Then he looked at Torin’s axe lying on the ground. It rested there in ominous reassurance of what had just happened. George took the crown off his head and flung it across the room. It gave a dull ring as it bounced across the floor before sliding to a stop. He leaned over and put his head in his hands.

  Nineteen

  Arkin, freshly bathed and fed after a hard day of training, sat in the Prophet’s room. Master Coll, since taking a few days off after the encounter with Stubbs, had returned with a vengeance.

  Arkin was sore beyond what he thought possible from the master’s consistent drilling. Coll pushed everyone to the brink, but none harder than Stubbs. Surprisingly, the big man took it in stride and kept his mouth shut.

  The Path of Man lie open, Arkin intently focused on reading. Every free moment he had, he dedicated to unlocking the secrets of the book.

  He looked at some of the last entries made by his father. A sketch of what looked like the standing stones caught his eye. His father, having a fascination with them, inscribed various numbers and equations around the page.

  A knock came at the door. Before Arkin had a chance to answer, Cain burst in.

  “Reading again, seriously? Arkin, you need to get out more,” Cain said.

  “What,” Arkin said, throwing his arms out in aggravation. He winced, forgetting about the soreness. “I barely have enough time to study as it is.”

  “Other than training, nobody’s seen you for days,” Cain said. “You’ve even been bringing your food back here to eat.”

  “This is important, Cain.”

  “So is your sanity,” Cain retorted. “All work and no play.”

  “You don’t get it!” Arkin snapped.

  “You see, that’s what I’m talking about!” Cain said. “You gotta let loose, man. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

  “I’m sorry,” Arkin apologized, recognizing his inappropriateness. “I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that.”

  Cain waved it off, awaiting Arkin’s reply.

  “Alright,” Arkin said after a moment of reluctance. He closed the book and placed it back in the desk.

  The two walked outside into the remaining evening light and entered the town.

  “It’s too nice outside to be all cooped up,” Cain said as he turned right, heading them out in a different direction than usual.

  “We’re not going to Poor Richards?” Arkin a
sked.

  “Na. Too loud for my mood,” Cain said. “Besides, I know a guy up here that has ale made from apples. Had a big supply he stored up for the winter.”

  After purchasing the ale, some dried beef, and two loaves of bread, the two began to make their way out of town.

  “Hey! Wait up,” a female voice called from behind.

  “Where you guys going?” Lyla asked, approaching them.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Cain teased.

  “Come on,” she pleaded. “It’s been a long day. Master Arzy can be so nit-picky about his practice”

  “Oh, I know,” Cain said. “Once, I was in his office for over an hour because of a sprained ankle.”

  “So, where we going?” she asked, waiting impatiently.

  “I can’t tell you where we’re going,” Cain said.

  “Why not?” she protested.

  “It’s a secret.”

  She looked at Arkin. Staring into her eyes, he shrugged.

  “Let’s go, Arkin,” Cain said with a motion of his head. They began to walk away, leaving Lyla with a confused and hurt look on her face.

  Before Arkin had time to speak on her behalf, Cain stopped and turned back.

  “You coming or not?” he said to her, grinning.

  She shook her head and smiled as she joined them. “So, where we going?” she asked again.

  “You’ll see,” Cain said.

  He led them out of town and onto a trail at the base of the mountains. After an hour of hiking, they found themselves on top of a clearing. The sun lay perched on top of a distant mountain. They paused to take in the view of all the surrounding peaks.

  “It’s beautiful,” Lyla said.

  “Almost there,” Cain said.

  As they descended into the valley below, the air became more crisp. The sound of water grew louder, until they found the source — an eighty-foot waterfall that fed into a wide swimming hole.

  Cain saw the look on his companions faces. “Amazing, right?” he said.

  “Incredible,” Lyla gasped.

  Arkin agreed. “Is the water deep enough to jump from the top?” he asked, sounding daring.

  “It is,” Cain replied. “At least, the last time I tried, it was.”

  “That’s insane!” Lyla said.