Read The Unknown Man: Book 1 in The Keepers of the Orbs Series Online
Authors: J.G. Gatewood
The Unknown Man: Book 1 in The Keepers of the Orbs Series
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or event is purely coincidental.
THE UNKNOWN MAN
Copyright © 2015 J.G. Gatewood
The phrases “The Keepers of the Orbs™” is a trademark of J.G. Gatewood
Cover design by James, GoOnWrite.com
A J.G. Gatewood Book
Contents
This book is dedicated to my beautiful wife Sarah. You are the love of my life and my everything. Thank you for editing this piece and for pouring your heart and soul into my work.
The morning air felt cool and damp with a strong breeze blowing in from the south. Smoke billowed out of the chimney of a cottage sitting on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a town sitting far below in the valley. It wasn’t a large town—more of a village— with many homes made half out of man-made materials, and the other half built into the ground of the rolling hills engulfing the town. Outwardly, the cottage looked well kept; thick bushes lined the edges of the house. A thin, ragged young man ran up the path leading to the cottage carrying a strange object in his hands. He struggled to catch his breath from the steep incline of the hill.
He reached the door to the cottage and knocked. Initially, no one answered and he pounded again. After a moment, the door creaked open revealing an older man. He had a long, white, braided beard hiding his aged and weathered face.
The young man said. “Master! We’ve done it!” An eager smile crept across his face. He tried to push his way into the house and the old man relented, although he appeared dissatisfied with the interruption. Once inside, he displayed the object he held. “Look! It’s everything you described to me.”
They stopped in the common room. It contained bookshelves on two of the walls with hundreds of books filling them—some looking old and tattered, worn from their many uses. Others looked brand new—the bindings appeared to be fresh, showing no visible cracks. A fireplace roared on the third wall, filling the room with an uncomfortable level of heat. Normally furniture would fill the room, but instead a large wooden table filled with scrap paper occupied the space. A beaker filled with a smoking, yellow fluid sat atop a flame giving off the stench of rotted flesh.
The boy still wore the eager look on his face; proud of what he displayed, and ready for praise for creating it. The old man stared at the object, pursing his lips as he took it all in. He brought his hand up and rested it upon his beard-covered lips. “Turl, It looks as I’ve described, but will it handle the amount of energy necessary for this task?” He continued to stare at the object. Turl looked displeased when the adoration he thought would be coming, never materialized.
The object looked like a cylinder of glass, framed by wood on the top and bottom, with supports on each side. It resembled an hourglass, but one much larger than a normal hourglass. The old man grabbed the object out of Turl's hands, and made his way over to the large wooden table. He brushed aside the pieces of paper, and set the object down. He pulled a wooden, three-legged stool over to the table and sat as he studied it further. The eager look returned to Turl's face as he crept closer to watch his master in action.
The old man let his own energy flow through his body and out through his fingertips. It looked like sinewy, white tendrils reaching out, trying to grab a hold of something, anything. They began a mesmerizing dance around the object. His face-hardened as he focused and the tendrils grew larger in size and number, continuing to swirl around the object. Orange tendrils reached out like claws and grabbed onto the previous white ones. The different colors combined, intertwining with one another, giving the appearance of braids. When seven of the multi-colored braids formed, the larger ones merged, creating a helix in constant movement. The old man's brow furrowed as he reached deeper within himself, pulling for more of his internal energy. A sudden yellow light appeared within the object, no larger than a marble at first.
Both of their eyes opened wide, fixed upon the tiny yellow light continuing to grow until it reached the glass edges of the object—trying to grow even larger, but still contained by the glass. The yellow light now stretched into an oval, much like an egg trying to explode inside. As it spread downward the old man jumped back, shocked at what he witnessed. He realized he only had a mere matter of moments, and muttered an incantation; sending the previous helix into a spin around the edges of the vessel. It bulged and contracted—almost rhythmically—while it continued to spin. It exploded in a brilliant flash of light crackling with white energy; the two men had to shield their eyes.
They strained to regain their focus, but remained fixed upon what they created. A white ball of energy now sat within the object—swirling with tendrils of orange, white, and yellow. The once plain, clean, wooden hourglass now appeared weathered and aged, inscribed with letters from a language Turl didn’t recognize. It all had happened so quickly.
The old man stepped back, covering his mouth with his hand, trying to contain his excitement. “Turl! Turl! We’ve done it!” He danced around the table, hooking his arm through Turl's, catching the boy off guard. Looking at the old man, you would never assume he could move with the agility he displayed. They continued to dance around the table, arms hooked together. When the old man let Turl go, he stumbled across the room, and collided with a chair and fell over. He crushed the wood underneath him when he hit the ground, sending chunks flying in all directions. The old man laughed and rushed over to offer his assistance. He hauled him back to his feet while he chuckled. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry indeed,” he said as he patted the boy on the shoulder.
Turl rubbed the small of his back, in slight pain from the collision with the chair and the floor. “No need to apologize. We’ve had many failures. It’s understandable you were apprehensive in my assessment of the object.” He looked around the room before settling his eyes upon it. “We did it, though? We’ve created an orb?”
“Yes, Turl. With your help, we’ve created an orb.” He pulled his arm away from the boy and ran over to the table, examining the pieces of paper littering the top. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. We can now put an end to the tyrannical actions of Martul.” He looked back and stared into Turl's eyes. “With more of these, we might stand a chance.” He gathered up the paper in his aged arms and walked over to the boy. “It’s time we met with the council. This is the news they’ve been waiting for.”
The wind forced the water to ripple onto the beach of a small river, and the evening air felt cool and moist. Two moons beat down and cast a long reflection over the water, glinting off the armor of a man lying in the sand. The man appeared to be young, no older than twenty, with a strong build. He lay breathing, his breath the only movement visible from his body. A young deer approached the river for a drink of water while an owl hooted in the distance.
The deer lowered its head for a drink, its ears on constant alert for any incoming danger. As it lapped at the water, a rumbling grew in the distance. The deer raised its head and cocked it in the direction of the noise. Frozen, it focused on the sound to ascertain the danger. When the rumble grew louder, the deer decided it no longer wanted to wait and darted across the water and into the distant forest.
An old and outdated trade wagon rumbled over the bridge crossing the river. The cart made a lot of noise and appeared overloaded and in need of maintenance. One of the horses began to slow down, much to the distress of the driver.
“Get a move on, ya flea baggin’ useless creature. Ye been slowin’ us up for days now and we need to get to port by morn. Now yah!” the driver said as he cracked the reins.
A voice came from the back of the wagon. “Whatch ya be blabberin' about up thar, Tuk? I need my rest and it be yar turn so quiet it down fer me will ya.”
Tuk cracked the reins again and this time the horse responded, slowly regaining its momentum.
“Don’t be tellin' me what to do, Kos, I be handlin' this. It’s these no good horses that be givin’ me all the trouble,” Tuk said.
“I don’t care what ye have to do, just let me rest in peace.”
Tuk muttered curse words under his breath, and urged the horses on.
Curse that pus filled, sore infested, no good uncle,
he thought.
If it wasn’t for him holdin' us up, we could be rich by now. Why do we always have to do things his way?
Why do I even listen to him?
His mind continued to wander. He sat thinking as one of the horses veered off the path, bringing Tuk back to the real world.
“What ye be doin', back on the path with ya!” He snapped on the reins.
As he corrected the horse, his eyes caught a twinkle off in the distance by the river. He thought it only the moon reflecting off the water and continued on his way. As they proceeded further down the path, he found himself looking over his shoulder out of pure curiosity. He slowed the horses to stop the cart.
Kos isn’t goin' be happy.
Tuk thought. The wagon came to an abrupt stop. “Tuk! Why we be stoppin’? We’ll never make the boat at this rate.” Kos stuck his head out of the cart to further lash out at Tuk. The moonlight shone on Kos’ face, filled with numerous, disfiguring sores. Some of them oozed with yellow and white pus. Others looked scabbed over from rakings of someone’s fingernails. Fluid leaked out of his nostrils and the corners of his eyes. Kos tried to shout again, but a coughing and hacking rage filled him as he tried to loosen and dislodge something in his chest. When it passed, he continued, “We’ve no time to be stoppin’, now get on down the path,” he said in a gruff and out of breath voice as he retreated into the cart.
“Kos, thar be something over by the river. I want to go over and see what it be,” Tuk said.
“Ugh, waste of ye time, but do what ye need to do and be quick ‘bout it.” He said as he rolled over inside the cart.
Tuk got down and walked over to the river. He always had his dagger on his belt, and withdrew it as he neared the riverbank. He ducked behind a tree to disguise his position so he could get a better look. He spotted the man lying on the beach and deemed him unconscious. Tuk crept over for a closer look. He crouched and got on one knee, feeling for breath. “Hey ye, can ye hear me?” Tuk asked. No response. He tried shaking him, but still no response. He looked him over more closely. The man wore what looked to be very expensive burnished plate armor, and a two-handed sword. He grew excited, realizing these items could bring in quite a bit of gold. Tuk rooted around the man’s belongings and found he wore a necklace. He pulled it out and noticed a carved medallion on the end. He tried to pull the chain free from the man’s neck, but it refused to break. Tuk tried cutting through the metal with his dagger, but it didn’t even make a scratch in the linkage. Feeling defeated, he tucked the medallion back below the man’s armor and ran up the road to grab Kos.
“Kos, Kos, get up and come look at what be down by the river!” Tuk said.
“Tuk, quit yer yammerin’, what be all the ruckus for? I told ye, I be trying to get some sleep.”
Tuk cut him off, “There be a man down by the river, he be knocked out and has lots of armor that could fetch some gold!”
Kos’s eyes lit up at the sound of this profitable news. “Some expensive armor ye say? Why didn’t ye speak of this sooner?” Tuk shifted his footing; displaying the anger growing from within. “Help me out of this cart. Whatch ye be waiting for?”
Tuk lumbered over to the cart to help him out. He grabbed Kos’ arm and pulled him free. He shuddered inside, repulsed by the appearance of his aging uncle. They approached the river to inspect the man and his belongings.
Kos got down on his knees to get a better look at the man. “Tuk you be right, this armor could fetch some real gold.”
“That’s what I be tryin’ to tell ya!” Tuk burst in. “So what all ye think we should take? This be a big man. How ye expect to get some of it off?”
Kos stood now while he pondered their next move. He scratched at his face, releasing more of the yellow pus. It drizzled down and collected on his chin while he thought.
“Tuk, by the looks of the armor, and this crest, this man might be a noble. We might get more gold by returnin’ the man to town. They might be willin’ to give us a reward of sorts; if he’s, in fact, a noble. If he not be a noble, then he be a very rich man.” Kos said.
“But Kos, how ye be expectin’ to get him in the cart? We can’t waste any more time or we be missin’ the boat. If ye be expectin’ me to get him in the cart by myself, ye got another thing comin!” he said.
“Tuk, you know I will help ya, now quit your blubberin' and help me.”
Kos grabbed one leg of the man, and motioned for Tuk to grab the other. They both pulled on his legs and began the journey back to the road. With all of the armor, the weight of the man became more than they could handle. They made it about ten paces and stopped to catch their breath.
“I told you this wasn' goin’ be easy. I don’t think the two of us can do it.” Tuk looked around the forest. “Kos, the forest be too dense to bring the cart down here. Maybe we need to use one of the horses. They be better at pullin’ things than us.”
“Tuk, ye be a smart man. Go get one of the horses and some rope,” Kos said.
Tuk walked up to the road and unhitched the stronger of the two horses. With it loose, he grabbed the reigns and steered it to the rear of the cart so he could get an extra length of rope. He walked back down to Kos and the unconscious man.
Kos had an impatient look upon his face, “It took ye long enough, Tuk!” When Tuk drew near, Kos grabbed the rope from his hands. “Better let me tie him up Tuk, I don’t trust ya.” The medallion lay atop the man’s armor once more; it appeared to Tuk Kos had been examining the man as well.
Kos knelt back down and tied one end of the rope around both of the man’s feet before tying the other end to the horse’s harness.
Satisfied with the job he had done, Kos said, “Okay Tuk, go ahead and lead the ole beast back toward the cart, and if the man don’t stir, ye can pick up the pace.”
He obeyed and led the horse back. The man bounced and collided with the ground from the many large, protruding rocks, but didn’t rouse from his unconscious state, so Tuk quickened his pace. They pulled the man to the rear of the cart and untied the rope. For the first time since they had stopped, Tuk noticed how silent their surroundings were. He glanced around to see if he could spot anything out of the ordinary.
“Tuk!” Kos yelled. “Help me get the man in the cart. Whatch ye be looking at, ya dumbfounded idiot? Let’s get a move on it so we can get into town. Can’t afford to miss the boat.”
Tuk responded walking around and picking up the man’s legs. The two of them struggled to lift his weight, but got the man situated in the cart. They slid him to the very front because of his height—he seemed at least two feet taller than Kos and Tuk.
“Drats Tuk,” Kos groaned, looking at the large body, “Now thar be no place fer me to rest. I will have to sit up front with ye.”
Tuk grimaced as unpleasant thoughts filled his mind. He followed Kos to help re-attach the horses. With them hitched back up, the two climbed up onto the driver's area of the wagon and started back on their journey.
They took a casual pace, but at first, the horses seemed eager to move quicker. Fast asleep, Kos' oozing face fell onto Tuk’s shoulder. Tuk sat in disgust, while Kos snored.
His mind wandered again and drifted back to the total silence of the forest. He couldn’t help but feel like someone watched them. He didn’t see anything. His mind started racing.
What if someone is following us? What if we’re being setup? We should’ve just taken the man’s possessions and left. Maybe I should’ve just ignored the glint when I noticed it off in the distance.
His mind raced on as they continued on the beaten and well-used path. He noticed the trickle of water from the river growing further away; a true sign they were drawing near the gates of Havenbrook.
Tuk’s initial reservations passed, especially after the cart hit a bump in the road and Kos’ head fell off his shoulder. Tuk enjoyed the silence as the sun crept up in the west. Kos, with his head now held over his chest, murmured something in his sleep. They were so far away from the river; he could no longer hear its rhythmic trickle.
Slowly the forest began to give way to lush green pastures and prominent fields filled with crops. The sun climbed in the sky while Kos continued to rant, lost in some odd dream. They made good time, and Tuk noticed a large pond up ahead. He decided the horses could use a small break to drink water and eat the lush grass surrounding it.
He guided the cart to the side of the path and reigned in the horses. He guided them both over to the pond where they drank, and then made his way back to the wagon. He walked to the wagon and found dried, salted meat and devoured it. After finishing the first piece, he reached back in and plucked out another. He jammed it into his mouth as he strolled around to the side of the cart and peered in at the unconscious man. He looked very well off and very well kept. Tuk started to think he didn’t like the idea.
What if he wakes and takes our rescue as a kidnapping attempt and slaughters the two of us?
He stared at him while disconcerted feelings grew in the pit of his stomach. He fixed his gaze on the large sword sheathed on the man’s back, and he couldn’t handle the way the man looked, even in his sleep. Even though his eyes remained closed, Tuk felt like the man watched him. It drove him mad, so he reached over and closed the faceplate to his helm. Tuk felt better, but then he heard a grumble.
“Ugh, my head. It feels like it’s going to split open,” the man muttered.
Alarmed and scared, Tuk took a step back from the cart, dropping what remained of the dried meat. It tumbled to the ground and collected dirt. The man sat up and re-opened his faceplate.
He looked around and saw Tuk staring at him. “Goblins!” he said. He looked toward the front of the wagon and noticed Kos sleeping. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to reach for his sword, but he relaxed. “Why am I traveling with you?” he asked.
“I, err we found ye layin’ next to the river some distance back. We loaded ye into our wagon to take ye with us to Havenbrook. I swear we were going to turn ye over to the authorities in town,” the words barely escaped his lips.
Alarm filled the man’s face. “You found me? What was I doing?” he asked.
Tuk scoffed. “You weren’t doin’ anythin’. We found ye unconscious.” He paused while he studied the man. “Who ye be?”
He looked dumbfounded and stared at the young Goblin. “I…I don’t know. What did you do to me?” His anger rose and an edge filled his voice.
Tuk took a step back. “We didn’t do anythin’. We just found ye lyin’ there.” He tried to show his sincerity. “We be transportin’ ye to Havenbrook, I promise.”
He looked hard at the Goblin and decided he must be telling the truth. “Well thank you. If I can ever repay your kindness, I will.” He offered a slight bow of his head. “Who is the Goblin in the wagon? He looks a bit sick, if I’m not mistaken.”
The act threw Tuk off guard, but sensing how calm the man became, he felt more at ease. “He’s my uncle who took me in when my parents died many years back. He be a little on the sick side though, I agree.”
The man walked over and sat on the back of the wagon. He tried to piece together what had happened. He could remember general details—such as, races and cities—but when he tried to remember anything pertaining to his identity, he found only emptiness, as if someone had ripped a hole into his brain and plucked out anything important. He felt frustrated and didn’t know what to do.
He saw Tuk staring at him. “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. I guess I have no choice but to accompany you to Havenbrook.” If he didn’t know any better, he would assume his memory loss had something to do with the Goblins.
