A fire red and bright within the light. The stone was smooth and polished, but no form had beeforced onto it. The jeweler had set it aside while he worked the gold. His hammer small and precise was not like the blacksmiths hammer that was set against the wall. In the shop was filled with smoke and customers. His apprentices working the three forges their dull wits barely enough to match the metal they forged. The night was his. Now when there was no one around to watch or laugh or tell him what they thought of his foolish obsession. There was in Timen little profit for the gold woven by so little a name as his. Gold flowed almost better than water in this desert and it was the smith who placed his name on so fine an article and was value entrapped and multiplied. Anger, greed, pride.

The smith his name was Grodner, that was only truth not pride, wiped his brow and took a long draught of the wine which lay at his hand. Only a moment but it was long enough. There was little time with such work to delay with his human imperfections.

His hands returned to the work, slow but sure, or fast and cunning. Always deliberate, always with an appeal to ancient knowledge passed from father to son, stored within many minds and within a thousand manuscripts forgotten and neglected by many generations. This was how Andor had forged the three hammers, this was the method for a thousand years that the Nordine wizards had prepared staffs of authority. This was was how those who made upon the islands many objects of curiousity that so fully penetrated the markets for a thousand leagues. There was power in what he did tonight--the binding of stones in joining. There was, however, authority also. Power was what men chose to do, but authority. Authority is what men are empowered, nay compelled to do by EO .That which must be. When a thing is bound by authority, not stolen nor forced, but that which is rightfully given it needs must be. This is truth.

When the world was yet young and time had taken its first steps or said that first word there was the Taur. Not the first, but not the last in the line of that which was made. But when all things that were to be made were, and the world moved onward there were stones. Of these stones many tales are told: how they were made and who found them. The doom that was placed upon them, and the power of the one who doomed them. Let it be said at this time only that they are mighty stone impregnated with power that even the ancients were loathe to tangle unless the greatest need should arise. They were fate stones.

Destiny is much written of and little understood. Fates are not like curses or blessings, those are that which has been placed upon us. Blessing are given and curses are uttered, but fates merely are. Fate stones do not do anything: they tell. Like the child catching their parents at stealing fate stones utter the truth blindly to any who is there to hear. That is why in many places they are called truth stones. Come therefore and listen to the tale of two of these stones--sister stones. The tale of Satireo (Sa-tir-eo)--Truths which are.

Mari's Story - The Fair

The world was filled with life this morning. Mari breathed deeply in the midst of a throng hurrying towards the brightly colored tents. She could smell the awakening around her. There was a sense that this was what life was lived for--a preparation for the fair. Now that it was here they were the few precious hours to live and then for an entire year prepare again.
Mari laughed at the notion. If it wasn't this or that it was that celebration there was a holiday of some sort. The living was done in the nooks and crannies of life where escape from the repetition of the grind was to be found.
She passed into crowd bumping into juggling acrobats and jostling among the populace. She liked the feel of people moving all around here. There was something reassuring in the presence of so many familiars even if she did not know their names. They were all of Venicur were they not? Stopping now and then to smell eagerly the fresh roasted meat or bread just now removed from the heat of the oven. In her pocket jingled two coins. Two not three or ten, but two. Mari sighed and then bracing herself pulled her hand away from her pocket and told herself not to think about it, but enjoy what wasn't bought with silver. There was much to see and do. There were puppet shows and jugglers, bears dancing to drums, wrestling matches and swift brutal games of dice where coins danced from pocket to pocket swiftly.
"Your future sweetie?" Mari turned as a withered hand grasped her arm. The woman was short and bent her face half covered in a veil. She tugged again at the arm and Mari followed half protesting. The tent was filled with incense and sweat. On the table a crystal set on a plate of silver lay waiting. They sat across from each other the clear crystal the only thing not dirty beyond recognition.
"Your hand darling, your hand." Mari extended it cautiously.
"You can't pay, or won't," the witch said cheerfully, Mari nearly drew her hand back in surprise thinking now of the two silver pennies in her pocket. Saying nothing she waited. The witched rubbed her palm first one way and then the other. "You will find a man today, he is a prince." She smiled broadly, there were no teeth on the left side of her mouth. "He will fill all the parts of your heart that are not now filled." Mari frowned inwardly but said nothing. "Your happiness will not last forever. He will be unfaithful." The witch shook her head and turned away for a minute. "It is a sad story, but wait." She cackled as if having eluded a dangerous foe, "you can amend it, you need only..." she shook her head sadly, "it will be difficult."
"What will?" Mari demanded. The witch shook her head sadly. There was something wrong. The pit of Mari's stomache welled up. This tent, the woman. Leaping to her feet she crossed the table. "Look at me." The witch shook her head. Mari pulled away the veil which hid the crone's eyes from view. For a brief moment their eyes met and Mari knew. She ran.
Across the field bumping and ducking and pushing until she broke free and her legs churned faster and faster and her breath was ragged. Mari ran.

The Fair

Mari awoke the next morning alert and and instantly aware of the day. The scent of the fair drifted easily into her half open window and the sounds were not of any normal day. Here was the day of jugglers and acrobats, instead of the shrill cry of merchants the more beguiling sounds of the stand watchers voices sounded out. Mari stretched her body muscle by muscle calling herself to wakefulness tendon by tendon. The last to waken was the mind this she did by centering herself in each part of the brain until she reached the back and spinal cord. Here she found concentration.
It was the same ritual every morning and in it she found a foundation to her day. Today she had found it harder than any other day. The fair called out to her with its every sound and she longed to join those already milling towards its sounds. There was much to do in the manor but there were few who needed to do it on a fair day.
Stroking her hair slowly with firm deliberate strokes Mari smoothed the night away. There was no mirror but Mari knew her head well enough without it and achieved with patience and practice a head of hair that was the envy of the village. Long brown strands fell about her shoulders with light soft curls at the tips. Running her hands down her sides and then her front she felt with some dissatisfaction only the slight beginnings of womanhood. She was not yet old enough to be called flat chested but the boys would soon enough. That was the way of things. Two heads shorter than most boys her age, and a head below the girls she could never dominate in that manner. Tall women were awkward she told herself. Over-tall she corrected herself. Truth. Is not that what Tago had taught her? She glanced at the satchel now. It was worn and weather stained but it contained three parchments at the moment and though well-read her Tago was still in good condition. Tago considered truth to predominate. Even to the extent that his readers question his presumptions, and suggested often that he lied that no one could worship him as truth.
"Truth in all things, even--no especially--to oneself." Mari recited quietly. Slipping her tunic over her head and fastening her belt around her waist Mari opened the door to the celler her body writhe with excitement about the coming day.

The Village

"The animals brought you out of the woods!" The taunt came from behind. It was familiar and Mari ignored it.
The way down from the hills passed every home. There were dozens of windows from which peevish boys and jealous girls could shout as she passed by. The boys because it was something to tease about, the girls because she lived in the manor. It was like every other manor in Venictur a stone house of some size. They said that the seven houses were built first, and for the first winter all lived in them. Now only a few people lived in the manor and some rooms were shut up for not being in use for so long. Mari thought to herself that they would not tease so much if they knew her room was the servants quarters, and that it was behind the cellars.
There were no more taunts and Mari slipped in the back door and shut herself in the chamber that was her sanctuary. She looked around evaluating with the disembodied disinterest she had taught herself to use. Straw mat. Low flat writing table with pens and inkwell. Chair carved by the master carver of the village. She regarded the chair carefully. It was the only possession she had of any real value. The satchel in the corner held a few things of usefulness, but her chair had value--if only that it was luxury. It was well made and fit well to her slender body. It was a carving of two wolves their heads for armrests their tails made the back and seat. She sat in it now stroking the left wolf feeling for the dent she had made last summer. It was there. Why had he made it for her? Months he must have worked on it. Why wolves? There had been none there when the animals had brought her. She sighed. The master carver was dead. There would be no answers.

Darkness came slowly but completely that night. Starlight was not strong enough to penetrate the forest leaves and there was no moon. Atal lit no fire that night only holding the child close in his arms and recalling in his mind what had taken place long ago and far away. Morning came reluctantly.

There were three of them. Dark metal encrusted creatures dragging their captive behind them with great strength for their small bony bodies. Atal sat waiting for them in a small clearing. He had heard their approach for hours. The birds had told him first, then the fleeing squirrels, and finally even the ants spoke of their approach.
They stopped when they saw him. He thought briefly of how stupid they seemed and remembered sluggishly to not underestimate them no matter how much more the world spoke to him. They spoke the tongue was gutteral and arrogant. One pointed at where Atal sat and the other paired moved towards him. The Fox growled. Atal said nothing. They hesitated but at a word from their commander hurried forward. The bear stopped them. Where he had come from even Atal had not heard. He was not given to being social, but Atal was such that he came out for him. There was silence in the for a long minute as the black creatures noticed the many animals gathered about the clearing.
Atal pointed at the captive. "Let him go." He knew the words would not be understood, but they comprehended well enough.
The leader shook his head, "Heg sercund," he pointed at the man, "barogunar."
Atal pointed at the bear, "barogunar," he pointed all around the forest, "barogunar," he pointed at an anthill, "barogunar." Crouching to the crowd he spoke softly and blew on the anthill, their black bodies crawling surely across the ground for what seemed like forever they did not understand. The itching, then the biting. It only reached the two subordinates. The leader watched with horror.
Atal rose from the ground holding out a giant spider. "I will send them to hunt you in the night." The threat was not as real as it seemed but the spider's venom was and with a quick word all three fled leaving the man behind. Atal gently set the spider down with a word of thanks.

The forest drew Atal in. Something foul lay on the plain and shunning it he slipped beneath the trees and left the sight of all things. The fox made no comment on their change of path. Ever since they had crossed the mountains she had grown more reserved. But now, since they had entered the forest she seemed to grow alert. The trees grew at first sparsely, and then more closely, drawing them from the bright sunlight into dark musty patches.
There was little life and only quiet for many hours.

Experiement

This blog is really an experiement. You see, my husband had been writing his fiction in small tiny pieces each morning before going to work, on the unreliable laptop. He has lost his work. My idea was for him to post here making it harder to loose it, or to loose it all. I also thought it might be interesting for you to see it. Who knows, maybe you will fall in love with it and want more? Maybe not, either way it is really for him, and for me who then has to organize what he writes into something wonderful. Well, if you like what you find here, you can visit our website for more (www.falonofthetower.com). We hope you enjoy what you find here.