The Tome of Law Collection

Chapter 1-1

The morning brought with it the promise of a good day. The first rays of sunshine cresting the distant mountain ridge brought together the contrast of light and dark in a unified blaze of colour. Zya was normally up with the rise of the sun, before nearly all of the camp. It was a time when she could think clearly, free from the distraction of the warm hearted caring folk around her. She cared for all members of the caravan deeply, but every person needed their own time, and now was hers. She gazed at the distant ridge, and the resplendent globe rising behind it. She had never seen a vision so stark and yet so beautiful all at once. With the slight wisps of cloud having dispersed at the touch of solar heat, the sky became a deep blue, the crystal clarity pronouncing that the rest of the day would bring weather as good as it was now. A slight breeze raised the hairs on her neck, the early morning chill refreshing as a swim in a mountain stream. It was good to be here at this time she decided. Everything was perfect, from the meadow flowers at the side of the track to the cry of a single hawk as it proclaimed its dominance to an empty sky.

Zya"s only companion at this time was Cahal the caravan guard. The grizzled old man had seen his fair share of fights during his life, and despite his advancing middle years he was still one of the toughest men Zya could remember meeting. He stood a short distance away from the camp, the chill morning breeze ruffling his hair, the only sign of movement from a man who could have been carved from one of the distant peaks. There was no real need for a lookout in the high lands, but Cahal maintained his post with a stoic commitment for a hired guard. He was one who had earned the fee paid a dozen times over. He had been with the caravan as long as Zya could remember, and despite his aloofness, was a warm caring man; he was as an uncle to her. He winked at her as she strolled past, bringing a smile to her young face. There would be no harm in her walking across the nearby meadow to the stream beyond. Otherwise Cahal would have accompanied her, calling the other guard out from his state of slumber.

The meadow felt soft, yet firm underfoot as Zya strolled, lost in her thoughts. The meadow flowers, tiny sunbursts of yellow surrounded by delicate fringes of white bounced back as her feet lifted. It was as if there was a vitality so pure, so concentrated that it gave the inhabitants of this area a boost beyond what sun and water could do for most. Even the weeds, sparse as they were seemed healthy and full of life, content with their lot in this wonderful place. The meadow rolled down a gently sloping hill towards the headwaters of the stream, and Zya found herself following the contours of the incline as she made her way towards what could well have been the source of the vitality in the region. Zya glanced uphill; she could see that Cahal had followed slightly, just enough to keep her in sight while keeping an eye on the rest of the camp. Stepping around a burrow that seemed as perfect as creation, she approached the stream. The vibrant sound added to the pleasure of the dawn. The sun pierced the distant crest of mountains and sent shafts of light past her and into the trees opposite. "Miracles" her father called them. For when one single beam was said to touch someone deserving, something miraculous would happen to them. People scoffed at the things her father used to say, but scepticism was not part of her nature.

Zya crouched on the bank, trailing her fingers in the crystalline perfection of the babbling brook. As with everything else in this spot it seemed almost alive, as if the enthusiastic bubbling were the pulse of the river laid bare for her alone to see. The water was icy cold, and when she lifted a handful to her lips it tasted as sweet as morning dew, refreshing as a mountain breeze. The taste only served to enlighten the pleasure of the private moment she had stolen. She gazed at her reflection on the rippling surface. Her hair, long and dark framed a face with high, pretty cheekbones and dark, luminous eyes. As she gazed, her eyes looked deeper into the stream. It was as if she was seeing beyond the surface of herself, a feeling she had had several times during her life. The feeling passed and Zya found she was gazing at the bottom of the stream, the bed full of broken rock not yet worn smooth by the flow of the river. Amongst the rock she noticed the eggs of some creature laid long past, and imagined that the effort was worth it to reach such a place. Whatever hatched from the eggs would receive a beneficial start in life, she was sure of it. She lay back on the riverbank full of blissful contentment. A day would rarely start so positively for many, and she felt blessed for her experience. There were not many places like this and as she shut her eyes to soak in as much of the feeling as she could, Zya vowed this was a place for beginnings and endings, one she would return to. She lay there for a time, enjoying the peace, until she became aware that she would shortly be joined. How she knew she could never tell, but Zya had a knack of knowing when someone was coming.

The man stopped a few paces away from her, and she knew who it was without opening her eyes.

“Beautiful isn"t it?”

“You picked a perfect moment to go for a stroll,” her father replied, “I have rarely seen such a day in twenty years. It makes you want to freeze the instant and live a lifetime in it.”

Zya smiled, her father had always had a prophetic way with words. She opened her eyes to see him gazing at the distant mountains with the early morning sun blazing slightly above.

“A shame I missed it. A beautiful sight for a beautiful day.”

“There will be others,” Zya replied. “We see so many sunrises in places like this that we are bound to see another.”

Her father sighed ruefully, “But they will not be like this, there is something special here; a quality indefinable. Still, we must move on. Up with you lass, they will be missing us already, despite Cahal"s assurances.”

Zya rose gracefully, standing nearly as tall as her father did. She shared some of his looks. The arch of her brow and her assured stance were learnt from her father, traits that were natural to both. The major differences were the eyes and hair. While he was fair in both, she was dark. They were so different and yet so alike. Yet they stood out from the people they accompanied, as they were both taller than the rest.

Father and Daughter ascended the rise with an ease that resulted from many miles walked over the years. The sun blazed in the azure heavens, and the riot of colour that resulted from such a fine day was enough to move anyone. The regret was plain in the face of both father and daughter, and as they walked back to the camp they talked about nothing else. It was as if they felt they belonged to that moment, a moment of utter contentment.

As they crested the rise, Cahal returned to his spot just outside the camp. From the crest, the whole camp could be seen, for it was not big. Four brightly painted wagons that doubled as homes were drawn up in a semicircle around the remains of last nights cook fire. The draft horses were picketed where the food was plentiful, and even they seemed full of spirit as if the grass they had eaten had rejuvenated them somehow. This was a normal camp for the travellers. Best known to the commoners as the tinkers, they would travel from village to village repairing and mending for payment. The payment was not high, and the quality always good. Through this the travellers gained a good reputation, and were generally accepted anywhere in the land. Though pots and pans was the normal type of ware to be fixed, Zya had heard that her father had joined the group in return for him aiding them through his knowledge of carpentry. He had never told her why he had chosen this way of life, and she never asked. Zya had always assumed that he would tell her in his own good time. Besides, the work in this group was not difficult and the group had benefited greatly as a result of Tarim"s skills. She decided that she was content.

A few people had risen to prepare for their departure, among them the other guard Jaden. He was so similar to Cahal that they could have been twins were it not for the fact that his skin was as akin to night as Cahal"s was to day. He grinned as Zya and her father approached; a big, white grin that was completely in contrast to the rest of him.

“Greetings to you on this glorious morn,” he remarked with a flourish of a bow. “It is one I hope never ends.”

“We were remarking on the same thought as we walked back,” replied Zya. “It"s as if the world were trying to tell us that there"s more to life than this.”

“Speaking of this life, Tarim, you had better find our glorious caravan mistress before she finds you.” Jaden nodded at one of the wagons. “It seems your services as a carpenter extend beyond the villages.”

Tarim sighed. “It"s a shame such a perfect moment can"t last longer. Still, the sooner we are under way, the sooner we can find another spot like this.”

“And the sooner you help Layric with the axle the sooner we can find such a spot young Tarim S"Vedai,” commented a voice in the doorway of the nearest wagon. Tarim, Zya and the guard all turned toward the woman who stood slightly above them and bowed.

As one, they intoned, “Greetings to you on this summer morn mistress. May the sky guide you.”

“And may the earth show you the way,” she replied, completing the ritual greeting. Tarim grinned, seeming almost boyish in front of the older woman.

“Be assured Venla, the problem is almost fixed.”

Venla smiled back, “Well it"s not fixing itself with you stood there; be off with you.”

Tarim moved away to one of the other wagons, Jaden following him with a small bow to the mistress. The title of Mistress was an honorary title given to the matriarch of each group of travellers. The title fitted Venla Chemani well. However the men argued, the decision always ended up hers. However they cajoled, if she had her mind set upon a certain path, they would always end up following it. Venla was more than that though; she was like a mother to Zya and the other two girls who were younger than she was. She had always been there for her, and was one of a few people, her father included, who would always be totally frank with her. A trait Zya had always respected in others. Zya noted Venla"s gaze, and followed it after her father.

“Ah, if I were only twenty years younger and not married,” Venla sighed.