Heartstone by John Schreiber

Author:John Schreiber [Schreiber, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781469111735
Publisher: Xlibris
Published: 2007-09-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Old Roads

The Cult of Man began with lofty ideals and noble sentiments but, like all cults, swiftly degenerated into another pagan abomination because the leaders had only one real goal in mind—control of their followers.

from the Stewards’ Guide

In East Woods, the rain stopped by mid-morning.

Derrick stumbled over a tree root as he pushed through some thick underbrush and fell to the ground. Picking himself up, he saw that many charred and jagged stumps were rotting among the forest undergrowth. From the girth of the standing pines, Derrick judged that the stumps came from a forest fire well over a century ago.

Derrick trudged on: Learn from the woods. Though disaster had struck, the forest persevered and recovered.

Time soon became lost in the heart of the dark woods, marked only by the occasional drops of water from overhead boughs.

A day passed, then another. The forest canopy thinned, and birch trees replaced the cedars and pines. A squirrel scolded him as he passed through one clearing. Later, he startled two deer. A red fox, a dead rabbit in its mouth, crossed his path.

On the third day since Greenthorn died, Derrick left the woods and came to a high, steep ridge. Sharply jutting gray boulders lined the ridge, spilling across a sunlit meadow. Climbing over the sharp-edged boulders reminded him of the Lorenburgs. Climbing down the mountain, his task had seemed so simple. Travel to the Great Plateau. Touch the lode. Stop Whitehall’s meddling. How easy, he had thought. How foolish.

He reached the top of the ridge and paused to catch his breath. He stood on an old road that ran along the top of the ridge, heading south. To the north the road led to the ruins of a round stone outpost.

Derrick walked to the outpost. Most of the top stones of the limestone building had crumbled or fallen, and tangled vines climbed the south side. There were no lower windows, just high, narrow slits built for archers. Black scars from the century-old forest fire ran up the stone walls like long, charred fingers. The door had long since rotted away, leaving a dark, ominous hole facing south.

Peering within, Derrick wondered why anyone would have built an outpost here. There were no towns in any direction, nothing to defend and no enemies that would attack.

Derrick stepped into the round outpost, his boots echoing on the worn stones. Sunlight streamed in through the arrow slits and cast long, narrow rectangles on the stone floor. Curving steps along the wall led both up and down. The air was cool, damp, and musty, and sunlight shone down the stone steps from a hole in the roof.

Derrick climbed the steps, pushing through cobwebs. When he reached the top, he found that he had nowhere to go. Stone and wood reinforcements along the edge showed that the pitch-covered roof had been replaced many times over the centuries, but now the wooden roof was completely rotten.

From this height, Derrick could see that this outpost had once marked the western edge of the woods before the trees had been cut for lumber.

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