Читать книгу The Shadow Scrolls: Series Book One, The Vale of Blood - PD Ph.D. Lorenz - Страница 6

Jonathan approached the swirling liquid of the river cautiously. He tried not to startle the already jittery horse as she drank from its crystal clear waters at an eddy near a crop of trees. The horse was the family’s backbone of sorts, due to her tireless and burdensome work that she had always performed with blind obedience and yet, Swift as she was called, was pregnant almost to her full term. Her gray coat was beginning to take on its winter thickness. Only by the closeness of their camaraderie was Jonathan allowed to grab her broken reign and calm her demeanor. If it were anyone else, she would have turned and taken off in another direction.

Life, as of late, had not been easy on Jonathan for everything that Swift had been utilized for, he had to shoulder himself. At times, his younger brother Samuel would help, but he was only seven years old and that was enough to make most tasks more frustrating than fruitful.

The river, Safehaven’s natural southern border, separated Jonathan’s homeland from the vast wilderness that lay beyond his understanding and had become the demarcation line between the life that he had and the life that he had longed for. He had visited the shore many times throughout his lifetime for the family had spent many hours eating by its shores, playing in its waters, and of course, drinking from its life giving sustenance. It was an endless source of refreshment and a place of peace in the midst of an often difficult existence. Endearing were the memories when his father would explain, and re-explain, to the family what their role in the kingdom was and how they, “as an important brush stroke in the painting of progress,” fit into the larger fresco of life.

That’s how the young Jonathan learned that Safehaven was just one of seven establishments throughout the realm, and how theirs was the most fortunate to have been assigned as the productions capital when the lots were cast. And, that their contributions to the supply line played one of the most, if not the most, important role in the kingdom. It was also at those riverside chats that John of Scharp would speak of a dynasty of weapon forgers such as the world had never seen, perhaps even producing a plethora of guilds. They were dreams and concepts beyond the youngling’s years, but the family enjoyed seeing the enthusiasms by which the “Da’” had made his grand speeches and colorful tales, for where he lacked in sight, he made up in imaginations and stories… And what stories he could tell.

As of late, the task of fetching water was passed from Jonathan to his younger brother although the elder would often defer, or rather refer, the task back to his self. This served the purpose of slipping away for moments of respite amidst his tiresome task filled days. It was thus that Jonathan grew to cherish the times he spent by the shoreline. So much so, that he would often make up excuses or even create circumstances to get away to the water’s edge. Once there, he had grown fond of a childhood game that was once revealed to him by his father, but had quickly become more of an obsession nay, more of a mission.

The simple task of skipping stones had, in Jonathan’s heart, become much more than a mere children’s game. As he grew in strength, he realized that his arm would afford him the opportunity to skip the stones further and further into the passing current and thus, closer to the opposite shoreline; that is, the undiscovered land that had come to represent the life he had longed for. Was it the monotonous task of day to day life that urged his heart to wonder, or was it the mere fact that there had to be more to the life than that which was apparently laid out before him like a walkway made of immovable stepping stones? Whatever be the reason, young Jonathan’s heart was determined to change his world, and the unfortunate stones that lay upon the shoreline would have to bear the brunt of his adolescent chemicals which created the frustrations and determinations for his symbolic escape.

A stone tossed and skipped across the water was no small task. The river itself was vast, approximately forty lengths as the shadows moved, besides the fact that the current raced by at a furious pace and more so in the spring months. Fortunately for Jonathan, the runoff had run its course, (being fall,) and the river had finally slowed to a mere surge rather than its normal torrential state. A stone that had the potential to reach the other shore would land well down river from where he stood, but he had found a remedy for that. Jonathan had perfected the trajectory of his throw so that he could face upriver, throw against the current, and by the time it would reach (or nearly reach) the far side, it would be directly across from him. Thus, there seemed to be no better time to accomplish his “mission” than the present, for did not his father state that he could have been removed for months at a time and it would not have mattered?

Jonathan easily tethered Swift, for she had become quite the opposite of her namesake due to the fact that a new foal was growing within her womb. He had always had a respect for the family horse and their relationship was a special one. She was a gift to the family at the birth of Samuel six years prior and it was assigned to Jonathan to care for her. For instance, he was tasked with the “mucking” of the stall, the grooming of her coat, the caring of her boarding on cold winter nights, and her retrieving when she had escaped in the swift blink of an eye; hence the namesake. It was during those many horse retrievals which taught Jonathan to know where to begin his search for her. And she would always run to the same place… the river‘s edge. Consequently, when he had cut her reigns asunder, he instinctively knew where she had once again escaped to; the location that he was all too eager to go to himself for the river had become their common secret place hidden away from life’s hurts.

Returning to the river’s edge, he meandered among the stones trying to find the proper ones used in the art of skipping. He had learned long ago that the shape and size of the stone determined his chance of succeeding in his task. While he searched, thoughts of his father and their fight coursed through his mind like hidden specters flashing mocking smiles at his already restless mind. All at once, they caused not only remorseful memories, but also fleeting surges of rage. It was a conundrum of emotions that could not be contained nor understood. At times, he even thought that perhaps they were thoughts from another world, all together like voices from the shadows that seemed to want to envelope him in a swirling mist. The only way that he could assuage the problem was to throw, throw, and throw...

The stones themselves had to be smooth. Stones the river had tumbled and polished. They also had to be flattened, but not too flat. Too flat, and they would take flight on unseen wings and curve off in wrong directions. Too round, and they would sink before even finding the light of day. At last, he found seven smooth stones and made his way to his favorite place from which to pitch them. Near the shoreline, he had long ago found an outcropping that lay about five hand breadths above the surface of the water. Behind him, some felled trees created a closed in wall. It was the perfect spot from which to hurl his stones and it was also hidden from sight in case any passers-by would happen along. With rage and remorse still brimming within him, he cast a look across the wide expanse of swirling water and fixed his gaze upon the opposite shore determined to complete the task his heart had been fixed upon for years.

The boy took the first of seven stones and threw his hardest. The first fell to the side and quickly sank into the depths swallowed up by the mysteries of the deep as if to mock his meager effort, yet for Jonathan it was the usual warm up (and cast aside) attempt. The second and third tosses produced better results, but they too were at odds with the contour of the water’s surface and glanced off in equally odd directions. The fourth skip, however, finally produced results. It excited Jonathan to no end for it had become the longest distance he had ever thrown a rock. His heart leaped as the stone raced its way to the far side. Farther and farther it went bouncing with purpose. He even began to cheer it on.

“Go, go, go!” he shouted at the emotionless stone. He would have released a triumphant bellow if it had bridged the distance, but alas it fell just shy of the far shore. With new hope in his heart, the young man took another, his fifth stone, and slung it as hard as he could. It was more out of frustration than finesse, for although it did leave with force, it caught a small wave and shot into the air and nearly back in the same direction it had been fired from. Gathering himself, the boy settled into the task at hand with his whole heart, the anger and frustration of the day yielding to his new goal, or rather, the old goal that had found new purpose.

The sixth stone was another foul, but showed more promise than the last. Finally, with the last stone in hand, Jonathan made his thoughts audible…

“This has got to be the one… Come on, just once…, just once make it to the other side,” he pleaded with the clouds above as if they were listening at all. It was the first time, however, that he noticed their racing past as if they were foxes being chased by an angry storm of dogs. Without a second thought though, he let it fly…

It was a picture of beauty as it left his hand and he knew it. He felt it in his gut. Its trajectory mirrored the fourth throw, but appeared as if it had invisible angel’s wings that majestically flapped with each kiss off the water. For a moment in time, it was as if the current of the river had all together stopped. Farther and farther it traveled, skipping like a rock with a mission and as it began to approach the far shore it even seemed to pick up speed as if someone had magically roped it in and was pulling it hand over hand, closer to its mark. Within a breadth of a man’s arm though, the stone abandoned its strength and fell short of the goal by mere wisps.

It was the defeat Jonathan had grown accustomed to as if creation itself had conspired against him and doomed him to failure. The task of rock skipping and stone throwing had become the defining moment in his adolescent life. With all of his heart he wanted just one of the stones to reach the far side, the new world, the adventure of a lifetime. Somehow, he felt that just one stone’s liberation from his side of the world to the other would somehow liberate his own soul as well. Alas, it would not be, not for the moment at least.

His face fell and it seemed that his brooding had carried not only his facial features, but also his shoulders toward the dust of the ground below his feet. Defeated, he turned on his heels and sauntered back in the direction of Swift… Back in the direction of the life that he had ever known, and would ever know. Oh, he could have thrown more stones, but he only ever afforded himself seven tries. That was an unwritten rule he would never break. It was only ever seven stones.

On the edge of the outcropping, Jonathan continued to amble back into his past life, his eyes seeing the ground before him but his focus elsewhere. Elsewhere, that is, until he spotted a sight that yanked his seeing into a rapid focus. There, before him, lay a stone half hidden by the shoreline sand. Though partially buried, it seemed to enlighten the surrounding silt, and indeed it did.

Kneeling down, Jonathan reached for what would be the most perfect of stones. Freeing it from its confines, he brushed clear the clinging earth. The stone filled his hand almost to its full breadth. It contained a near perfect balanced weight, a bit on the heavy side, yet easy to handle. Jonathan’s heart leapt at the discovery. Though it was mostly covered in mud, he hoped beyond hope that what he was holding was really what he thought it was. Racing to the shoreline, he plunged the object into the water and cleared away the grime.

From the water emerged the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. In his hand lay a single piece of Emeralhearth, a majestic green rock so perfectly formed and polished that it was nearly transparent. Looking into its depths was like looking into the heart of nature itself for a distant light burned deep within. It was like the light that streams through the branches of trees in the waning hours of a glorious day. He had heard of the stone, but never believed it to be real in any way, shape, or form. To him, it was only a legendary substance fashioned into a legendary shield for a legendary king. If true, its worth would certainly be legendary for it would be much more valuable than fine gold.

Jonathan’s mind raced at its discovery. He thought that perhaps he had found a future in it, a way to buy his way out of his ordinary life. As he pondered its potential, he soon found another discovery and it nearly stopped his rapidly beating heart. Rolling the gem across his fingers, still amazed at its exquisite beauty, he dropped it into the then murky water. The moment lingered on the edge of self destruction for it had disappeared beneath the surface yet, to his utter amazement, the item that had sunk suddenly bobbed to the surface once again.

“A stone that floats upon the surface of the water? Do my eyes deceive me?” mused Jonathan out loud. The young man picked up the stone again, and again dropped it into the water where it again descended into the depths, but soon rose again to the surface. Then a thought occurred to him…

I am more than sure that this stone of stones could span the distance of the river. Just one throw, perhaps even just one skip with an eighth try could more than bridge the gap of my frustration… But I am equally sure that it could buy my freedom as well. Perhaps elevate me to a position of power in the realm… Maybe even to the hand of my princess? (For there was yet another obsession tucked secretly away into the son of the weapon master’s heart.)

Thus, in an instant, the boy grew to be a young man; a young man with real opportunities, with real temptations, and with real choices. Do not all suddenly discovered treasures have a tendency to produce such quandaries… such, inner battles?