Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms

Book One:

The Sea of Storms

Science Fiction

by Mark Whiteway

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Published by Mark Whiteway

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Smashwords Edition

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Copyright 2011 Mark Whiteway

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the hard work of this author.

For Mary
Chuey

Prologue

“And so it was, that
Kal the wise did beseech Ail-Kar, and Ail-Kar did cast from the
firmament the heavenly stone.

The stone of
constancy and change; of boon and bane; of creation and
destruction”

Blessings of the
White Sun, Fourth Stanza, Ninth and Tenth Lines

It was early in the afternoon,
when Kal first saw the flying rock.

Well, perhaps “flying” was a
slight exaggeration; a subtle embellishment that he might have used
later when trying to impress his younger brother, or his friends
after third-day prayers. It was at least enough to break Kal out of
his reverie. Hymarr’s reaction was the last thing he had
expected.

He had been rehearsing in his
mind for days beforehand how he would ask her to accompany him to
the Spring Gratitude Service. That morning, as he lay in his
bedchamber, before even Ail-Gan, the yellow sun, had risen over the
western horizon, he determined that today was going to be the
day.

He found her outside a clothing
shop just off the curia. She was taller than he was, with long
brown hair which hung loose about her shoulders, and large deep
brown eyes. When she smiled, they shined brighter than all three of
the suns–or so it seemed to Kal. She wore a simple unembroidered
red-brown supertunic, woven from a soft-looking
material.

As Kal approached, he saw that
she was accompanied by two other girls. She seemed to be involved
in an animated conversation. He stopped in mid-stride, locked in
mortal combat with his fragile resolve. A voice within screamed at
him that this was a bad place and time, but something within him
caused his legs to start moving forward once again and a few
moments later he was standing in front of Hymarr.

She stopped, seeming to notice
him for the first time. “Kal?”

The other girls looked irritated,
but he ploughed on. “Hymarr, I...was just looking for
you.”

Her brows knotted together into a
frown. “Excuse me?”

“Are you going to Spring
Festival?” It was a stupid question. Everyone would be going. The
two girls standing just behind Hymarr suppressed a giggle. “I was
wondering if you would care to–”

“No,” she interjected. “No, thank
you.”

“But–”

“No!
” Her speckled cheeks were
flushed as she turned on her heel and strode away down the street
away from the curia, her tail swishing behind her. Her friends
burst out laughing and followed in her train.

Kal simply stood stupidly for a
moment. He had no idea what his expression was, but he drew a
couple of curious stares from passers-by. Then he turned and began
running to get away from the place and time of his humiliation. As
he ran, feelings of anguish broke over him in waves, but he only
ran faster so as to blot them out. A part of his mind recalled
dimly that his father would be expecting him at the smithy, but he
did not care.

As he neared the edge of the
village, he passed the pen where graylesh were kept. One graceful
animal raised its pointed snout from its manger and regarded him.
On impulse, Kal vaulted the fence, swung himself on the back of the
nearest beast and kicked hard. He was nearly thrown as the creature
lurched forward. It cleared the barrier and suddenly Kal was in
open countryside. He had a sudden image of the animal’s imagined
owner and how angry they would be…and then how angry his father
would be. But he pressed his mount’s striped flanks and urged it
forward.

After a while he looked back and
saw that there were no signs of pursuit. He caused his mount to
slow a little, and as he did so, the valley and its environment
began to insinuate themselves on Kal`s senses. It was early spring
in the Taskar valley. On either side of the track Kal could see
tilled fields, planted with kalash or perhaps moba root. There was
no wind, but the air rushed past his face. The graylesh had settled
into a rhythmic loping stride, which Kal found almost
relaxing.

By now, Ail-Kar, the white sun,
had risen in the west, a brilliant point of light, chasing the
larger yellow sun across the sky. The latter had already reversed
its course in the sky, moving westward briefly, before resuming its
eastward course. Dominating both of these in size but not in
brightness was Ail-Mazzoth, a huge ball ten times larger than the
yellow, its dull red colour looking pale and washed out, due to the
brightness of the pale blue sky. Ail-Mazzoth was the Mother figure
in Kelanni faith. The ever constant one, who never moved in the
sky; who ever cast a benevolent eye over her children. By the grace
of the Three, he was starting to sound like an acolyte! The very
thought made him laugh inwardly, which lifted his mood a little
more.

Soon he had left behind signs of
cultivation and was travelling through a land of brown dirt and
purple scrub. Although it was early in the year, Ail-Gan had enough
power in it that he was starting to feel a little thirsty, although
of course, he had no water with him. He felt a twinge of
conscience, wondering if his father had discovered his
disappearance, and would be worried about him, but he quickly
thrust the thought aside. He was not ready to go back and face the
music, not just yet.

The path began to rise slowly
towards the foothills, which rolled onward and upward in rising
waves. In the distance, half hidden by haze, were the jagged peaks
of the Tragar Mountains. Kal slowed his mount to a walk. On the
right, not far from the path, were the ruins. They lay in a tumbled
mélange of long-forgotten stones. Kal had explored them as a child
and once found markings which he thought to be writing, but it was
in no form he recognized. His curiosity piqued, he had sought out
the acolyte in his anteroom after instruction the very next
day.

“May I ask you a question,
sir?”

The small chubby man in a grey
robe looked up from his desk, and sighed. Many of the acolytes Kal
remembered as patient and kind, with a good sense of humour. Golon
was not one of those.

“Yes, Kal.”

“I wanted to ask about the ruins
north-east of here. Is anything known about them?”

Golon blinked. “They are
ruins.”

If it had been anyone else, Kal
would have thought this was a joke. Kal soldiered on. “Is it known
who built them?”

“Does it tell you in the sacred
texts?”

Kal was far from Golon`s best
student. It occurred to him that he was unwittingly setting himself
up for a lecture. “I found some writing on one of the stones
there.”

“What did it say?”

“I don’t know; I did not
recognize the letters.”

“Then how do you know it was
writing?” Kal had to admit that Golon had him there. The portly
acolyte leaned back in his chair. “Well, I would say if it was not
writing, then you are wasting your time, and if it was and those
who did the writing suffered destruction, then what they said is of
no consequence, wouldn’t you?” Golon smiled weakly.

Kal had withdrawn, defeated, like
the ruins themselves. They lay there now somnolent, lit by the
afternoon suns, offering no more answers than they had back then.
Kal set his face, kicked his mount and rode onward, leaving his
many defeats behind him.

A little while later, his eyes
were following the slow glide of a distant perridon, its wings
outspread seeking thermals in the thick air, when Kal suddenly
caught sight of a dark shape. It floated in the air some twenty
meters from the path to his left. A few moments of observation
showed that it was not a hovering bird, nor was it a lap-moth. This
thing, whatever it was, appeared motionless, suspended about four
times his height above the ground. He tugged on the neck of the
graylesh, and the animal obediently slowed to a walk, shaking its
narrow head and giving a snort as it did so.

Kal directed the creature towards
the object and neatly dismounted. The graylesh, spying a lush patch
of purple moss, headed on over and began to nibble at it with an
air of complete disinterest.

Kal`s first instinct was to ride
back to the village as hard as he could and tell his father what
he’d found. However, if he did that, he doubted anyone would
believe him. He scarcely believed it himself. Besides, it sounded
far too much like the kind of ridiculous story that a young person
would invent with the aim of trying to deflect attention from his
own wrongdoing and avoiding punishment. And there was something
else. Whatever this was, it was he who had discovered it. If he
hurriedly left the scene, it might be happened on by another person
who would take the credit. So it was that Kal resolved to try and
retrieve the strange floating object. But how?

Several possibilities sprang to
mind, most of them comic in their lack of practicality. He briefly
pictured himself trying to stand on the graylesh`s back, while
jumping up to snatch the rock, but there was no way that the animal
would stay still for that one. He walked beneath the stone and
jumped as high as he could. The gravity allowed him to jump over
twice his own height, but it was evident that he was not going to
reach it that way.

He cast his eye about the
immediate area. It was an area of rough heath land and small
hillocks–wild, but unremarkable. He walked a short distance,
looking on the ground for something he might use. Stones, but they
were all too small. Then, suddenly he spied something. He pulled it
loose from the sandy soil–an irregular fist-sized flint. He hefted
it in the palm of his hand. Perfect.

He walked up, stretched back his
arm and aimed at the airborne enigma. On the sixth attempt, he
heard a “clack”, as the missile made contact. To his surprise, the
floating rock was knocked sideways and fell to the ground, tumbling
end over end until it rolled to a stop.

Kal walked over to where it lay,
lowering himself to his haunches. It was almost jet black in
colour, about twice the length of his hand. He touched it
cautiously. It was slightly warm and smooth, with deep imprints
into which he could have fit two of his slim fingers. He lifted it,
half expecting it to go flying off on its own again, but it had
apparently grown tired of its aerial activities, and sat obediently
in his hands like a....rock.

Ail-Gan was moving towards the
eastern horizon, signalling the onset of late afternoon. It was
time to return. Kal carefully re-mounted the graylesh and stuffed
the flying rock inside his tunic. It felt warm against his leathery
olive skin. Whatever the thing was, he hoped it might get his
father’s attention–maybe even deflect some of his wrath. He
directed his mount towards the path and then right toward the
village of Halceron, all thoughts of Hymarr gone.