Light Seeker

Light Seeker

Book 2 (2nd edition)

of

Prophecy Stones

by

David E Owen

Copyright 2013 by David E Owen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © David Owen October 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted, leased, licensed, transferred, publicly performed, distributed in any form by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the express permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or within brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information visit www.prophecystones.co.uk or write to publisher@prophecystones.co.uk.

David E Owen has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work under the Copyright Amendments (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales or incidents are purely coincidental.

The Prophecy Stones

Book 1 : Fire Pool

Book 2 : Light Seeker

Book 3 : Dark Betrayer

Chapter 1 - battle lines are drawn

It was late afternoon before the remote fishing village of Alice Stop roused in the cooling of the day. Squealing children chased through trodden-mud pathways and splashed in the shallows of the lake, running between the drying hulls of tilted boats ranged along the lakeside. Frayed rope nets, soiled by fish scraps and restrained by heavy stones, stretched across the pebbled beach, while the gutted fish-catch from early morning lay with dead eyes on stained rocks, their mouths hanging wide, innards simmering in pots, thickening the air with their odour.

Mothers stirred food or stoked charcoal while their daughters convoyed large jugs of slopping water on legs that trembled from the weight. Fathers and older sons gathered in serious groups, talking, sitting, chewing on small carved sticks, reflecting on the day.

The approaching rumble of galloping horses made every head turn southwards in unison. Mothers moved first: grabbing their young, yelling loudly, Get to the woods! Soldiers!

The men responded quickly, rising from their haunches, running hard toward the houses for weapons.

They were all too late. Thirty mounted soldiers burst into the clearing, swords drawn, hacking at washing lines and swiping at the flimsy market stalls.

Shrill screams engulfed the village. Darting children froze, blocked from their homes by the stamping horses.

Mammeeee! shrieked voices in all directions.

The soldiers dismounted, surrounding the villagers, shouting, forcing them towards the centre. They grabbed the men by their jackets, cracking heads with sword handles, dealing even more brutally with resistance.

Get them into the shelter! shouted one.

They dragged women by their hair and kicked out at the petrified children or grasped them by arms or necks, hurling them forward.

Check the houses; get everyone out here! yelled sergeants-at-arms

Four of the soldiers scurried around, gathering reins and pulling the horses to one side, tethering them at the edge of the village.

The soldiers herded the inhabitants into the covered shelter at the centre of the village: grim mouths, eyes hard, swords pointing in at their prisoners.

The residents milled in the enclosed space, dabbing at the wounds on their heads and faces, having them inspected by friends and family before sitting on the benches to wait.

Parents gathered their children in close, hushing the babies. Of the four soldiers who had collected the horses, three now wandered the compound kicking in doors, entering houses, then exiting, holding up stolen items, laughing loudly. The fourth of the soldiers remained with the horses, watching the path along which the platoon had ridden, waiting as a solitary horseman approached.

An officer dismounted, his authority emphasised by an expensive cape of thick, brown fur draped loosely over his shoulders, handing the reins to the waiting soldier without looking in his direction. He sauntered to the front of the shelter, ducking under the edge of the roof, to stand under the cover, staring down at the captives. The villagers fell quiet, watching.

He undid his cape, carefully folding it and handing it to the guard who had rushed after him, then pulled at his dark moustache, rubbing a finger unconsciously along the raised weal of a scar running from his nose into the hairline above his right ear, crossing his right eyelid.

I am a Commander in the armed forces of Lord Mool. He said, with practiced carelessness, picking at his fingernails.

He paused, studying his hands and then looked up, inspecting his captives with the same disdain he had given to the dirt under his nails. This territory, which once lay under the control of the Wicca, now belongs to Lord Mool and is subject to his laws and governance.

No one from the village responded aloud but a few frowns creased foreheads with most simply staring, listening, not understanding what was happening.

The officer waited, his thin face moving left and right to search for those who might interrupt him, a thin smile lifting his moustache at the silence: just ignorant peasants. Arrivers shall no longer hold positions of responsibility here, including that of Village Leader. Use of magic is no longer allowed except with the express, written authority of his Lordship. He squeezed his nostrils between a finger and thumb, twitching his moustache several times.

Arrivers will be required to register their powers and have their magical abilities noted. They shall become the servants of, and adhere to the laws of… Belongers. He pursed his lips, closing his eyes and clasping his hands behind his back, hoping for a response.

A voice shouted back at him. We govern ourselves. We don’t need outsiders telling us how to live.

The Commander opened his eyes, smacking his lips loudly. No longer, then he glanced around at the staring faces. A Belonger will be allocated to oversee this village and will make the necessary laws and rules to be followed by you all.

A gruff, loud voice made him turn his head. We don’t need laws and rules. We catch fish and care for each other. That’s all the laws we need! We have our own Elder. Several faces turned to the tiny, wizened old man sat in their midst, bemused, unable to hear the words being shouted around him, nodding back at the faces looking at him. Some villagers shook their heads: the idea of officious rules was ridiculous.

The officer sighed at the stupidity of the people before him. For a start, new laws will be required concerning taxation.

Taxation? barked the gruff man, rising to his feet.

Of course: taxation on your status as villagers residing on Lord Mool’s land, smiled the officer as if speaking to a child. "Rent, if you prefer."

What? shouted several in disbelief.

The Commander sighed at their lack of understanding, shaking his head that they could not grasp this simple concept. "You will pay a rental tax on your property for the right to live here on Lord Mool’s land."

Immediate uproar filled the shelter, faces turning to one another, shouting and questioning.

And…, the officer barked, before waiting. His soldiers lifted their swords and the Commander's assistant banged on a table: the villagers quietened, allowing him to continue, …taxation on unregulated use of magic!

This is stupid, said one woman to a neighbour, loud enough to ensure the officer heard her. We have barely enough to live on. We can’t afford taxes.

The Commander's voice took on a threatening tone. "You will pay a quarter of your monthly wealth to the manager appointed to this village."

What wealth? shouted the woman. Look around. There's no wealth here! her voice thick with irony and her perception of the Commander.

The officer sighed once more, tutting at their lack of reasonableness. He turned his attention to a young woman holding a baby, standing at the edge of the shelter.

What's your name?

She turned to look behind, as if expecting someone else to have been singled out. There was no one there, so she turned back quickly, red-faced at being chosen. Me, sir?

Yes! You with the baby!

The woman glanced down at her sleeping child, again to confirm that she possessed one, then stared at the officer, her lips parted but not speaking.

What_is_your_name? The Commander separated each word, deliberately humiliating her further.

The woman felt every villager’s eyes looking at her, making her redden more. Her lips quivered. M…M…Marla, sir.

The officer smiled. Well, M…M…Marla, he ridiculed, What a n…n…nice name! then he turned his head and nodded to one of the soldiers standing near her. Marla began to turn to see what this meant when the soldier grabbed her by the hair and yanked her screaming out of the shelter. The villagers leapt up, protesting, but were stopped as the other guards stepped forward, lifting their swords threateningly.

Anxious faces watched as the soldier brutally dragged Marla for several feet from the shelter before dumping her, sobbing on the ground at his feet.

Sit down! shouted the officer to the villagers. They had no choice, so sat, faces turned, watching Marla with her child as she gathered it close to her, her eyes on the soldier's sword pointed at her head. The child’s mouth was opening and closing as if were about to cry, but remained soundless, petrified into a dumb silence.

The officer lowered his voice, pulling their attention back to him. He raised his right hand, pointing his index finger at individuals. If you pay your taxes and obey the appointed governor, you need fear nothing. But, if you don’t, then expect a severe… punishment. He peered deliberately across at Marla, letting his finger drag slowly through the air to finally point at her.

Please let her go! pleaded several women, standing now, staring with frightened eyes at the officer. Frightened sobs puddled across the crowd.

The officer turned back to the villagers once more, studying them for several seconds, pursing his lips in thought then he turned to the soldier guarding Marla and nodded once, emphatically.

No!

The soldier braced himself. Two more soldiers rushed over: one to grab her hair, forcing her head to the ground, the other grasping her ankles. She screamed, bucking her body to protect her child, arms encircling it tightly.

The villagers screeched, pressing against the raised swords of their captors, No! Leave her alone!

The soldier raised the sword higher, steadying himself, before glancing again at the officer.

We’ll pay! We’ll pay… whatever you want! shrieked the villagers.

The officer smiled at them, enjoying this part of the ritual, studying their faces as they stared at him, eyes pleading for his leniency, mouths working hard, trying to find the words that didn't exist to implore this torment to end. His smile widened further at their fervent righteousness before finally dropping into a smirk. He turned back to the soldier and nodded sharply again. The soldier nodded in reply, tensed, then drove the sword downwards, hard!

The point of the sword blurred as it plunged towards its target… and time slowed…

The villagers' faces screwed slowly shut as they began to turn away, horrified, mouths opening, emitting low rumbles of disbelief…

The sinews on the soldier's neck thickened, his veins pulsing with effort…

The Commander’s eyes glimmered, fixed on the girl's dilemma…

Marla’s mouth dropped wide in a terror-filled, empty scream, her eyelids shutting, head trying to turn away…

The child in her arms, tucked his face into hers, sensing her dread, not understanding…

A shimmering gold light surged from the trees behind the village, rupturing the air between the forest and the soldier, the sword glinting for the briefest fraction as it passed through the gleaming light. The sword shattered upwards into a growing arc of millions of tiny glinting metal shards as it touched the band of light, the force of the downward drive ensuring the whole blade disintegrated, showering the woman and child in a cloud of sparkling gold and silver stars of light and… time returned to normal… The soldier stumbled to his knees, falling across Marla, colliding with the guard pulling at her hair. The soldier holding her legs fell backwards in shock, hands shielding his face from the flying metal.

A stunned silence fell over the villagers.

The officer stared with his mouth open. The soldiers guarding the people twisted round, responding to the unexpected reactions. They saw the soldiers who had been restraining Marla lying on the ground staring off into the forest and the unharmed woman curled in a protective ball, legs tucked up, still holding the baby, a pool of glinting metal lying over and around her. The would-be executioner was knelt in the dirt, staring in astonishment at the handle of his sword and the fragments of his weapon lying scattered all around him.

Every face turned to stare at the forest from where the light had erupted.

A small movement of leaves made them focus their attention: a tiny hand appeared; a branch pulling back to reveal the face of a young girl from behind the foliage. She seemed no older than nine or ten: long, brown hair pulled and tied behind her head in a ponytail emphasising a thin face. She would have been pretty if she had not been so enraged. Though the child's anger drew their attention, they would remember even more the green, feral eyes staring directly at the broken sword handle and the soldier holding it.

She stood, her mouth open, sucking in air, controlling herself after the exertion before raising her eyes until they stared at the soldier with the sword stub. Angling her head marginally left and raising her hands to follow her gaze, she glared and pointed at the officer. He returned her stare, his eyes widening in surprise at her composure.

For several seconds nothing happened. Then the officer barked. Get that child!

Several soldiers leapt forward, skidding to an immediate stop when, from behind the girl, the forest erupted with a huge swaying of branches. Sounds of cracking echoed across the village. Large trees bent violently, crashing and collapsing to the forest floor, leaves raining down behind the girl.

The villagers watched it all, terrified.

The soldiers took involuntary steps backwards, fingering their swords as an enormous creature burst into the clearing to stand, chest heaving, beside the girl. Her head was level with only its shoulder even though it stood on all four of its legs. They had never seen the like before: dark, thick, curly fur covering its body, its head sweeping menacingly from side to side, low to the ground, eyes locked on the soldiers who threatened the girl, an awful snarling rumbling deep in its throat. Suddenly, it reared up onto its hind legs, doubling its height, and bellowed hideously in the guards' direction, saliva flecking from its maw as it roared.

The guards spun, falling over backwards, terrified, twisting, scrambling on all fours back to the others in the troop.

The officer’s face had turned white with fear. Ila save us! he mumbled under his breath, stepping backwards before he screamed, Stand firm! Stand firm!

The soldiers turned at the command, moving closer together, hands shaking, pointing their swords at the beast and child.

The creature dropped again to all fours, the girl grabbing the brown curly hair on its shoulder, tugging in approval, her mouth smiling coldly, her eyes still staring at the soldiers facing her across the cleared gap from forest to village.

The villagers had remained rooted to the spot. Marla had sat up and turned so that she and her would-be-executioners were mesmerised into a frozen tableau by the girl and her creature.

The officer stepped forward uncertainly, Line!

The soldiers responded, taking up position, facing the girl.

Swords for-aaard!

The soldiers reacted again, wanting to resist the order and run, but eventually raising their swords, anticipating an attack from the beast, fear evident in their half-hearted responses.

The officer was preparing to bark another command when further movement from the forest interrupted him: the branches of the forest behind the girl swayed unnaturally for a distance of fifty metres, making the soldiers’ eyes flick fearfully along the length of disturbance, knowing something else was coming through towards them.

From the trees stepped a silent line of armed men with no words spoken and no commands given. They stood to attention, watching the villagers and the company of soldiers standing before them.

The Commander realised that his own force was matched in numbers: forty or so were ranged along the tree line, though they didn't appear to be all soldiers. He noticed three women who looked non-military and some of the men seemed to be injured.

Then he blinked in surprise as he realised that many of those facing him were dressed in the battered remnants of the army uniform of Lord Mool - the same as his own men. His eyes narrowed.

Who are you? he shouted at the silent line of men and women. Who is your commander?

One of them stepped forward. He looked middle-aged, with a battle-hardened physique, hair shaved close to his head, severe even by military standards, and with steely grey eyes that peered at the officer. He didn’t speak, however, seemingly content to just stand and stare.

I can tell by your uniforms that you are Mool’s men! shouted the officer. He paused for a moment, noticing half a dozen of them dressed all in black, typical of Red Cloak uniform, puzzling him, wondering how opposing forces had joined forces in this unit.

I am a Commander in Mool’s forces. You men will step forward and join my company, under my direction! He stared hard, grinding his jaw, yet feeling uncertain under their silent scrutiny.

No one moved.

The officer bawled, That is an order! Step forward and take your place alongside my troops!

No one moved.

The shaven-haired man responded quietly to the officer's commands, "You have no jurisdiction over any of these men. They have chosen to leave Mool’s command."

Leave? screamed the Commander in disbelief. No one leaves Mool’s army!

No one responded.

You are traitors! he screeched. You will be executed for this! He paused for a moment, looking along their line before continuing to address them, deliberately calming his voice and controlling his aggressiveness, raising an index finger in admonishment. Rethink the situation you are in. Step forward and return to my command and I will speak up for you at your hearings!

No one moved.

The silence lingered for several seconds, the officer's finger continuing to wag, before his temper returned, wilder than before. I will have every one of you flayed! Rejoin my ranks! Spittle flecked from his lips.

They will not! responded the rebel officer calmly.

Who are you? demanded the officer, glaring at him.

My name is… Taiven, said the man, emphasising his name, expecting it to be familiar.

Taiven? shouted the officer, recognition showing immediately on his face. General Taiven? His surprise was enough to stop his finger moving and he pointed it accusingly at the man. You are wanted for treason! He sneered at the renegade soldiers, his head nodding as if they didn't possibly realise the dangerous company they kept. Do you realise this man is being hunted for desertion? If you are caught with him your punishment will be severe!

More severe than execution? Taiven laughed, Because you've already promised them that! The men behind him smiled at his reply.

The officer bristled, his moustache twitching violently, but speechless with indignation at being laughed at.

And, who are you? Taiven asked the officer.

The officer lifted his chin. I am Commander Jenn, High Commander of the Central Spines. He pouted his lips and half-turned his head away.

Well, Commander of the Central Spines, said Taiven, "I suggest that you and your men mount up and depart, unless of course, any of you would like to join us?"

"Join you? snorted Jenn. A ragtag group of mercenary deserters? Why would any of my men join you?"

Taiven turned away from Jenn to inspect the line of warriors behind him. He turned back, smiling at the Commander. "Because these soldiers intend to conquer Mool’s army!"

Jenn spluttered with an uproarious laugh. Don’t be ridiculous!

They will defeat Mool, insisted Taiven. And for a very good reason.

What possible reason? asked Jenn, drawn in by Taiven's assurance.

Taiven moved next to the young girl with green eyes, putting his hand on her shoulder before facing Jenn once more. Because they fight for the next Trot!

The Commander stared down at the frail child next to Taiven, eyes widening in surprise at her apparent title. Trot? This girl? Jenn spat the word ‘girl’ with disdain. The Trot is dead and the Wicca is gone. Lord Mool is the leader of Mundo now.

Taiven shook his head. One day you will bow your head before this child and kneel to her command. Remember her name: she is Nesta!

I will never… Jenn was about to say more but the huge beast creature began to growl and shuffle forward towards him. Jenn backed away a step, hands rising defensively to his chest.

Don’t anger the Huffer! suggested Taiven in mock seriousness. He knows when people are showing disrespect to Nesta, our next Trot!

Nesta patted the monster's shoulder, shaking her head at him. The Huffer stopped at her touch, looking at her then turning his head once again to face Jenn, the black, fathomless eyes staring. He growled deep in his throat.

Jenn began to move back towards the horses. Very well. He peered over his shoulder at Taiven. But I shall return here with a larger force and we shall then see who begs for forgiveness! He stalked away, his head held high. Mount! he screamed over his shoulder and his soldiers ran gratefully to their horses and galloped swiftly out of the village.

Nesta turned to Taiven, her face perturbed. I’m not going to be the next Trot, she said quietly.

Taiven smiled down at her in apology. I know… but he didn’t.

Two of the young women stepped forward from behind Taiven and went to Marla to help her. They gently lifted her to her feet and spoke to her, stopping her sobbing. What’s your name? asked one of them, a girl with short, blonde hair. I’m Jessica and this is Peyla. You’ll be safe now.

The villagers still stood where they had been left, watching in silence when a further rustling in the bushes forced their eyes from Marla, fear reappearing on their faces. The foliage parted and the villagers’ eyes opened wide. Many gasped aloud in amazement. It was a young man astride a horse… but no ordinary horse. This stood a third taller than any they had seen before, its coat shining yellow-golden in the sunlight. The villagers blinked when they noticed the head with its four eyes and four ears turning and twitching nervously.

A hachi! whispered someone. Several fell to their knees.

The young man encouraged the hachi forward towards the villagers and dismounted. We'll need a place to stay for the night, he said to them.

They looked at the young man in silence.

My name's Kynn. he introduced himself, smiling.

Several villagers nodded an automatic response but couldn’t speak. Their eyes flicked back to the hachi, then across to the man called Taiven, down to the little girl, Nesta, stood at his side, and then finally across to the enormous Huffer, which was sniffing at something interesting at the edge of the forest. Too many remarkable things had entered their lives in such a small space of time to enable them to take them all in.

As others nodded their heads, suddenly the spell broke and the village filled with noise, with questions asked, hands shaken and the laughter of children flowing with wonder as they gathered around the hachi, touching its golden hair. A few older children approached Nesta, simply to stare at her, knowing she wielded a Power beyond their wildest imagination. The Huffer they left well alone.

Several adults shuffled quickly across to where the pieces of the sword lay and began recovering the remains. They believed something monumental, reverential even, had occurred this day and they wanted a souvenir to show for it, with the idea that such relics might bring them luck or wealth. They searched for and pocketed every tiny piece of shattered metal.

Darkness brought a party atmosphere to the village with sun-bee lamps lit and a large fire burning at the centre of the dwellings, beside the communal shelter. Several villagers and soldiers took turns at singing favourite songs but as the moon began its descent and parents carried sleepy children back to the houses, only a small group remained, talking quietly into the deepening darkness.

Ongal, a village leader, told the visitors of the rumours spreading throughout the valley.

Mool’s men are raiding villages between Mool’s Palace and Kano Lake. We thought we were safe here on this side for a while longer but it seems that events are moving faster than anyone expected.

What do they want? asked Kynn.

Their main reason seems to be to get taxes from the people. At least that’s what they claim.

But there’s more to it than that? asked Peyla.

Yes. They’re arresting the most powerful Arrivers and taking them to Mool’s Palace.

What for? asked Jessica.

Ongal shrugged. To remove them from office, but probably to use them for Mool’s own purposes.

And they’re making Arrivers wear coloured bands in some villages, said a woman bitterly.

So they can identify them easily, continued Ongal.

If you’re an Arriver and found without the band, you’re punished, said the woman.

Punished in what way? asked Peyla.

The woman grimaced. Beaten, jail, extra fines! Whatever they decide.

Without referral to the Courts of Justice? asked Kynn.

The villagers shook their heads.

Taiven considered the developments, Things have deteriorated. They’re changing fast.

And there’s a huge army heading towards Nag, said another man.

Taiven looked up