Gemworld (7 page)

“What did you say hit you in the shoulder?” Jaren asked, intent on Sal’s every word.

“A ball of rock,” he answered with a shrug. Granted it was impossible, but the impossible was quickly becoming commonplace, so he didn’t see how this one detail was very important.

“Formed out of thin air?” Retzu led him. Sal nodded.

“Did you get a look at his eyes?” This from Tavin, his face neutral, belying the dread in his voice.

They know something
, Sal thought excitedly.
By God, they know something
. “Yeah. They were like your mage eyes, only different. Kind of brown or grey-brown with—”

“—black specks,” Reit finished. All were stunned silent for a moment.

“Who was he?” Sal blurted. All this time wasted, and he had the answers right here. Or at least, some of the answers.

Reit nodded to Jaren, who took the reins of the conversation. “We may never know
who
he was, but we can tell you
what
he was. If what you’re telling us is true, you’re very lucky to be alive. The man who attacked you was a granite.”

“A mage? So he was like you, then?”

“Nothing like me,” Jaren answered firmly. “True, he can wield mana, but comparing a granite to an emerald is like comparing a bear to an eagle. Both beasts are powerful in their own right, but they are two very different animals.

“It is much the same with the six Tiles. Each Tile, or division of gemstone magic, is absolute master in its element, but they are as different as... well, as fire and water.” The others snickered, as if at some obscure pun, but Sal missed it completely.

“Let me put it another way,” Jaren continued. “Emerald magic, the magic that I wield, is Life magic. It is based on, and affects, vitality and decay. We heal, grow, poison, rot—whatever can be done within the boundaries of Life.

“Granite magic, on the other hand, is based on patterns of strength and weakness, affecting that which is Matter. Rock, dust, metal—these are the realm of the granite soulgem.

“A mage’s magical alignment often has an effect on his personality. As such, emeralds tend to be abstract and compassionate, where granites tend toward logic. Emeralds use their magic to benefit others. Granites use theirs with regard to the ‘greater good’, without thought to the individual.”

Sal let all this sink in for a moment. Seemed pretty cut and dry to him. “So a lot of granites go evil then?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘evil’, exactly,” Jaren said, his face drawing up as he searched for the right words. “Granites are no more inherently evil than emeralds are good. They just tend to have different values.”

Sal stared blankly at Jaren, missing the connection. Jaren tried a different approach.

“Due to our gemstone eyes, mage vision differs from human vision. First, we have primary vision, or normal vision. It is similar to your own vision, but tinged the color of the mage’s soulgem—green in my case. Secondary vision is suited to the powers of the gem the mage is attuned to. Emeralds are attuned to health, so emerald mages are able to see the health or decay of a creature or object. Ruby mages likewise see in terms of heat, sapphires stress, and amethysts energy.

“Granite, on the other hand, is more of a rock than an actual gem. Light cannot pierce it, so a granite mage has no primary vision. They must rely solely on their secondary vision, seeing only in terms of the strength or weakness of matter. As such, they have no relief from their magic, no opportunity to set their magic aside and just be normal for a time. They tend to be solitary, bleak. The world holds no beauty for them. Thus, their singularity of vision leads almost all to embrace logic, practicality. In doing so, they see that the Highest holds sway in the land, and has for millennia. Logic dictates that he will continue in power for millennia to come. So to answer your question... yes, they are in large part misguided, but evil?” Jaren sighed. “That is ultimately up to the Crafter to decide.”

Sal was silent for a moment, considering. “That helps a little, but it still doesn’t tell me what a granite mage was doing in my world.”

Jaren shrugged, at a loss.

“I’ll tell you one thing, mate,” Retzu chimed in. “Whatever it was, he was up to no good. And I dare say that if you saw such a logical creature ‘twist his face in hatred’, you’ve earned yourself a foe at least as dangerous as any you’ll ever meet.”

Sal couldn’t help but shiver at the prospect.

“I must say, though,” Reit said, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “Whatever happened before you were dropped off to rot in our cell, you must have been a force to be reckoned with. You survived.”

***

About the middle of the next afternoon, they crested a high ridge. From that venue, Sal saw their destination at the foot of the hill.

Caravan, as Reit called it, was a smallish village with a population just shy of a thousand. Sal doubted it would take more than a half hour to walk the village’s perimeter. But what it lacked in size, Caravan made up for in versatility.

Aptly named, Caravan seemed able to pack up and move on a moment’s notice. Blacksmiths, leather crafters, artisans, fletchers, and a number of other professions, all conducted business out of wheeled shops or tents. Indeed, Reit told him that it was customary to move every few weeks, whether they needed to or not. Food was rarely a problem, as the Vale teemed with game, and Caravan had a number of sister villages that aided in tending the numerous crops that they’d planted throughout the region. And then there were the thousands of nameless farmers, who grew their plantations out in the middle of nowhere, beyond the notice of all but their kin. Caravan and her sisters could easily disappear, never to be found by their enemies. Sal was still contemplating the tactical advantages of such guerrilla communities when the ground before him started sprouting arrows.

Almost by instinct, Sal dropped to the ground and rolled for the nearest cover, a dense cluster of saplings just off the path. “Ambush, ambush!” he shouted, and waited for his companions to dive for cover. To his shock, they simply stood there, favoring him with looks of mild amusement. Reit shook his head lightly and stepped forward, harvesting two of the arrows at his feet.

Reit flipped the arrows in his hands until he had both arrows by the head, and then directed his eyes into the trees before him. Sal followed his gaze and found a small compliment of archers spaced out between the branches. One of the archers lowered his bow and nodded. Even as Reit raised the arrows over his head, Sal got the gist of what was going on.

The rebel leader was quick to confirm his suspicions. As the arrows reached their apex, Reit brought them down again, twirling out a series of signals so elaborate that Sal could barely follow them. The arrows seemed to come alive as Reit beat out a pattern as a rock musician would a drum solo. When he was done, Reit dropped the arrows and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. Whatever message he’d sent had apparently been accepted, for the rest of the lookouts lowered their weapons and allowed Reit and Company to pass.

Must be the right place
, Sal thought wryly.
I didn
’
t wind up a human pincushion
. Jaren extended a hand to Sal, though he guessed it was more to cover the mage’s amusement than it was to help him to his feet. He brushed off the dead leaves and twigs with as much dignity as he could muster, and then hurried to rejoin his companions as they descended the ridge toward Caravan.

The village at the base of the ridge was set up roughly in a square. Camouflaged but beautifully decorated, the residential area—many wagons serving as both home and shop—made up the perimeter, broken every so often by a guard post. Within this perimeter was a commercial district which ringed a central commons area. A barely visible path led from the top of the ridge to the village center. As they approached, the path began to fill with people.

But something seemed amiss. The village people were not the welcoming party that Sal would have expected. No grand parades for their fearless leader, newly freed from the prison of the Highest. Parents reined in their children, holding them close. More, the children looked as cautious as their parents. Something was wrong. It couldn’t be the wrong village; they had come straight to it, so Reit must have known the location well. And they obviously knew who Reit was, as he didn’t sprout arrows from his chest back at the lookout post.

Then it hit him that
he
was the reason for their caution.

For the first time since waking in the prison, Sal considered what he must look like. He was still dressed in his black SEAL jumpsuit—minus, of course, his personal effects, body armor, and weaponry, which he’d apparently been relieved of prior to his incarceration. His dirty blonde crew cut had more than a week’s growth on it, and he had the shabby beginnings of a beard. And then there was his eye. He still hadn’t had the chance to inspect the handiwork of the prison emeralds, or Jaren’s touch ups, so he had no idea what it might look like. He was just thankful that he still had it.

Take all this and roll it up in a week
’
s worth of prison filth and fugitive travel
, Sal thought sardonically.
You must be quite a sight to see
.

At the edge of town, the villagers formed a human barrier. They were confronted by two mages from a nearby guard shack, both with glowing gemstone eyes—red, though, in contrast to Jaren’s green. He wasn’t sure what type of mage they were, but the sheer menace rolling off of them labeled them as a warrior class. All at once, Sal realized there was a much simpler explanation for the way the villagers—and the ruby-eyed guards—regarded him.

He was an outsider, a threat.

Reit moved to one side, and the pair stepped forward and grabbed Sal’s arms, locking them behind his back. Retzu and Jaren did nothing.

Reit turned a stony, expressionless face to Sal. As the villagers pressed in to hear, he addressed Sal in a voice clearly meant for his audience’s benefit.

“James Salvatori, you have expressed interest in finding refuge with us. Having traveled with us, do you still wish it so?” Reit intoned, his words resonating with ritualistic majesty.

Last call
, Sal thought to himself. Time to put up or shut up. Seeing no other options, he said, “I do.”

Reit nodded, satisfied. “Then you will be tried by our wisest council, to determine whether you speak from the abundance of your heart. Your usefulness would be great...”

“...but our Cause is greater,” the crowd replied in unison. Apparently, the whole village had a part to play in this ritual.

“You will be held in safety and comfort tonight,” Reit recited. “You will be fed and bathed. You will be healed of any injury that you might have received while traveling with us, and be given rest. You will speak to no one. On the morrow, you shall be tried by the heads of the Gemstone Orders represented in this village.”

“The Sapphire,” called a voice, drawing Sal’s eyes to an old man with blue gemstone eyes as he made his way to the front of the crowd.

“The Amethyst,” came a soprano, a young woman with violet eyes standing a few feet back from Reit.

“The Ruby,” said one of the men at Sal’s elbow, his voice rumbling with menace.

“The Emerald.” With that, Sal saw Jaren slip around him to Reit’s side, his green eyes burning in all their bejeweled glory.

Reit paused another moment, as if waiting for any other gemstone orders to represent themselves. When none did, Reit continued. “Should you be found true in all, you shall be allowed to join our ranks. You shall take up arms against our enemies...”

“...and we shall take up arms against yours,” the crowd again responded.

“Should you be found true but at odds with us, we will not treat you unkindly. Freedom of will is paramount to us—even the freewill of our enemies. You will be taken into the Vale and released, unharmed, to go your own way.” He paused for a moment, implying the gravity of what he would say next. “But should you be found false, both at odds with our Cause and without the integrity to own it, you shall die, as swiftly and painlessly as the Crafter would allow us, for a double-minded man is a danger to others as much as to himself. We shall mourn your death...”

“...but the Cause must survive,” said the villagers.

Reit nodded again, the ritual coming to a close. “Go in peace. Pass the night in contemplation. Face the morrow with honor.” That last having been said, Reit and Jaren stepped aside to admit Sal and his keepers. The crowd parted before them, and then closed behind them as they passed.

It was all that Sal could do to resist the urge to break and run. Which was probably just as well, since the ruby mages seemed the type to have itchy trigger fingers. Sure, he understood that Reit had to keep his people safe. Sure, the villagers would have to be able to trust him if he was to live there with them. But the whole “death—swift and painless” thing was a bit much. Reit could have at least warned him before trussing him like a Thanksgiving turkey. Well, what’s done is done, Sal thought. So biting his lip—hard—he allowed his minders to lead him on.

The rubies and their “guest” continued to attract spectators as Sal was led to a small, one room wagon on the north side of the village square. It didn’t escape Sal’s attention that the door had no knob, only a locking bar across the front of the door. Apparently, the guards weren’t too worried about people breaking
into
the wagon.