G R Matthews [Matthews - The Stone Road

The

Stone Road

G R Matthews

Copyright 2013 G R Matthews

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10 : 1493741713

ISBN-13 : 978-1493741717

For Mum and Dad

You taught me right from wrong and how to be a good person. All my successes are down to you the muck-ups are mine alone!

Prologue

Candles lit the vast cavern, small stars in the darkness. Stalactites and stalagmites met in occasional pillars, an illusion of support for the high ceiling. Chanted words meandered through the rising and falling needles. Murmuring echoes of confusion bounced from the cool, smooth walls and skipped across the still lake in the far corner.

In the centre of the cavern a large circle had been drawn in red and surrounded by scribbled symbols. Any eye trying to follow their pattern would soon admit defeat and be lost in the convoluted twists and turns.

Within the circle a large triangle, also drawn in red, pierced the circumference and at each sharp angle stood a figure in long dark robes. Before each, a long wide table with a pile of virgin white paper placed to be reached without effort. To the right of the paper a decorated clay bowl full of the red liquid that had drawn the circle and symbols. In their hands, a brush made from a newborns hair and an ivory handle.

At an unspoken signal the three lifted a sheet of paper, dipped their brush in the liquid and with practised flicks and swoops hand drew a symbol on the page. They threw the paper into the air and started to change, each voice reciting a different phrase, to a different rhythm. The paper rose and the symbols began to smoulder, wisps of grey smoke drifting towards the caverns soot-stained roof. Then the paper burst into flames, consuming the inked symbols. Cinders fell in a black snow to lie within the triangle.

From one of the small tunnels that led to and from the cavern, a line of twelve naked men entered to take up position on the perimeter of the circle. Now, the writing, drawing and chanting took on an urgent pace, each robed man throwing paper into the air at shorter and shorter intervals. Three more, and then three more pieces of paper exploded into starbursts.

The twelve men stepped into the circle between the circumference and the triangle, four in each defined section. The robed figures paused then reached into their robes and drew forth a long curved dagger. Exposing their left forearm they made a surgical slice letting the blood flow along their arms and drip into the bowl. Stirring the blood infused liquid with the tip of the knife they made similar slices in the arms of the naked men, catching the new blood in the bowl. The naked men did not flinch or cry out. Their eyes were glazed and fixed on the centre of the circle.

When each man had been cut and the blood collected, the robed men returned to their tables. On four pieces of paper, they made marks and symbols and resumed their chanting. This time, as the paper rose and smouldered it did not erupt into fire but, upon a unified shout from the robed figures, sped across the air to plaster itself on the face of each man. The symbols continued to burn and the air was filled with the smell of cooking meat. The naked men made no sound.

The robed figures took the final piece of paper from the piles on their tables and soaked it in the bowl of mixed blood. Moulding it into a soggy ball they raised it above their heads and began chanting, the same phrase over and over again. Sheens of sweat coated their faces and their breaths became ragged as they maintained the rhythm of the chant.

For an age it continued and then, with a final grunt of effort, the blood dripping balls of paper were transformed into flaming spheres. Flickers of red, yellow, blue and white danced across the surface of each, sparks of dark fire dripped from the eldritch balls. Raising dagger-sliced arms the figures set the spheres in motion and they dipped, skidded towards the three groups of naked sacrifices.

There was a blinding flash of light and an explosion of noise. Stone creaked, needles toppled and pillars cracked. The robed men fell to their knees. The sacrifices were outlined in red fire, their forms rolling, coiling, and merging into one. Joints popped, bones cracked, tendons snapped, faces melted, and flesh dripped to puddle on the floor. Only now, and very briefly, were there screams of pain from the twelve. The fiery puddles of flesh on the floor bubbled and hissed.

From those puddles, new shapes rose.

Part 1

CHAPTER 1

Rain fell like tiny hammers on the tiled roof of the school. Inside, the students, who knelt in respectful silence, were trying hard to listen to their tutor.

It is not the work of a bureaucrat or diplomat to make policy, just ensure it is followed. This is the lesson that you must learn and absorb; it must become a part of everything that you do. There will be bitter pills to swallow along the way. You may not agree with the policy... and he paused to meet the eyes of as many students as he could....but it is not your place to agree or disagree. You must keep silent on the matter when engaged upon a negotiation. Your words, your heart, everything, must reflect utter confidence in the policy or the orders you have been given.

The tutor rapped his short oak staff on the floor and began to pace back and forth in front of the students. The hem of his long dark blue robe whispered over the woven mat floor. His slippers were soundless amongst the patter of rain.

Every action you take or move you make, every look or glance will be read by someone. They will make something of it. They will judge you by it. Doubts of self or others, cannot be allowed during these stages. That is why policy and orders are the hard rock at your centre. He stopped at one end of his paced route. Are there any questions so far?

Tutor Zhou, one of the students in the third row raised his hand, what if you have no orders? What if the negotiation is sudden?

Feng, isnt it? The student nodded. Feng, there are never sudden negotiations and you are never without orders. You know the tenets of Wubei Province?

Yes, Tutor.

Then recite them for us?

We are strong, stronger than others. We are wise, wiser than others. We are brave, braver than others. We are Wubei, the rightful heirs of the heavens.

Does this help you to see that you are never without orders? Zhou stared at Feng. We are Wubei, the rightful heirs of heaven. We are wise and brave. We are strong. Do you understand what this means? It means we are right. It means others must recognise this or face the consequences. Our orders come from heaven itself. Through the duke who sets our broad policies, to the Administrators who enact the policy, to your own superiors who give you orders. You are never sent into the field without orders, without an understanding of your position in the grander scheme. To graduate from this course you must recognise these things, they must be a part and the whole of you. If you cannot, Feng, you will fail.

Yes, Tutor Zhou. Feng bowed his head in respect.

It is true also, Novice Feng, that negotiations, situations, can change without warning. You must be ready to change and be aware when things are changing. For instance, even now, outside the door is something that will change today's lesson. You must learn to listen between the rain drops. A change, when it comes, will step lightly before it kicks like thunder. Hear the light steps and be ready for the thunder. Class dismissed.

The thirty novices stood, bowed as one and then they filed, on bare feet, through the door. Behind Zhou another door slid open.

Kicks like thunder, Zhou? the newcomer said. When did poetry enter your heart?

Zhou smiled and small creases appeared around his eyes, The day that I met your daughter and she agreed to marry me, Honoured Father.