14 Stones, page 1
14 Stones
A River of Rocks
First Book of the Stones Series
Paul Telegdi
Dedicated to my wife, Melanie Telegdi, my strength and support.
Written: July 1997
Copyright © 2014, Paul Telegdi
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever
Edited by Melanie Telegdi
Published by Paul Telegdi at Smaswords
To enjoy other books by Paul Telegdi please visit www.seeWordFactory.com
Dreamcast I, II, III, IV and V (paranormal series)
The Call at 3:18 am (paranormal)
14-, 15-, 16-, 17- and 18 Stones (prehistoric series)
Seize the Day (Roman)
Strike the Red Hammer (Norman)
The Locksmith’s Dilemma (medieval)
Where Arrows Fly (medieval)
Dark Fires (medieval)
Learning Berserk (Viking)
Unlearning Berserk (Viking)
Chance Encounter (a life in progress)
On the Razor’s Edge (prison novel)
Remembering PT-927 (WWII)
The Lady Bug (WWII)
At the Point of the Quarrel (next)
Foreword
This isn’t the first book I’ve started, but the first that I completed—around summer of 1997. Back then I wasn’t so sure of my writer’s voice, yet four more books grew into the Stones Series. I was still learning the craft of storytelling. I wrote fifteen more books and published them before I felt confident to revisit my firsts and do the necessary polish and edits.
Fourteen Stones is Young Adult fiction that taught me to write, to persevere through dry spells, to weave a story line into something I could be proud of. Chaiko, the main character, has always remained close to my heart, and in one way or other influenced all my other characters who followed.
Young or old, I’m confident you will like this story. I set it in prehistoric times, thinking it would be simpler not having to deal with the ponderous weight of civilization. To my surprise it was harder, because I was unable to reference thoughts and institutions (like church, government and taxation) everyone is familiar with.
Yet because of where the story takes place, I always had to keep track of the surroundings, the weather and the time of year in careful detail. You will see…
So, welcome to the prehistoric. I wish you good reading.
Chapter 1
Some inner sense roused him from a light sleep. Chaiko surfaced into awareness of the night around him and though he had no prescience of danger, from longstanding habit he remained motionless, listening intently, testing the night air. A light wind played among the trees a little further down the slope but was not loud enough to mask a possible threat. He was reassured by the small habitual sounds: the hum of insects, now and then the strident call of crickets, wing beats of a bat hunting and an occasional frog calling under a quarter moon. From behind him came the sounds of the cave sleeping, comfortingly expected: a cough, a snore, the creaking of a hide, all softened by the depth of the cave.
With deliberate slowness he scanned his immediate surroundings. Dull embers glowed in the guard fire in front and only a wisp of smoke curled upward along the towering cliff face which loomed above in the pale light, with the cave it sheltered lost in the shadows. The wan glow of the moon barely illuminated the landscape; it hid more than it revealed. The broad ledge faced outward, seemingly empty. The access slope was barely visible, and the bush and trees beyond merely hinted at. Everything else farther down was lost in the darkness and the ambiguity of shadows, some threat hidden within. Chaiko shook his head to clear the suggestions his mind painted.
He drew a deep breath through his nostrils tasting the air, but smelled nothing disturbing. His lids closed against the distraction of his eyes; he willed himself to thought-walk into the darkness. He focused his mind and “walked” the area with his senses in a deliberate, slow sweep in front of the cave and then beyond; past the gathering place by Standing-Rock, which gave the clan its name; along the water run and onto Tall-Frog Tree. His senses vibrated, ears attuned, nostrils sniffing the air. He concentrated, projecting himself into the memory of the land, and swept on, resisting an impulse to hurry through the ritual. He followed the path worn into the grass, passing by the solitary rose-hip bush that grew there. There was an odd itching sensation at the back of his head; his ears twitched. Had he heard something? He was aware suddenly of the quiet all around. He nearly lost the mental vision of thought-walking but he forced himself to go on. There was a group of rocks, then a bare, sandy spot next to a clump of dried grass ... but wait ... did he just hear the dry grass crackling as if something brushed by? The hairs on his back rose. Trembling with concentration, his senses straining sharply, he listened. There was something there! With his whole being he reached out into that spot of darkness and felt awareness meet awareness, a feeling like cold water on the naked skin, shockingly unexpected even though he had been probing for just such a thing. He felt a creature as clearly as if he were touching it. The darkness growled; it too had felt the contact, palpably real. The menace grew in the low rumble and Chaiko knew there was a cougar on the prowl - a fearsome hunter of the night, sinewy, quick, agile and merciless.
“The fire will protect me...” Chaiko reasoned, but the presence approached brazenly, paused at the edge of the circle of firelight, crouched and made ready to jump at the puny creature in its sight.
“Animals are not supposed to do this ...” his mind protested. “Only man does not fear fire ...” The rumble grew again, ending in a half cough that echoed deep within its chest. The animal shifted its weight and gathered itself, ready to spring. There was something odd about that movement. “It’s hurt,” flashed through Chaiko’s mind, every detail sharp in his heightened state of awareness, but his heart missed a beat and a warning scream froze in his throat.
Chaiko felt the beast’s intent to spring; he felt its wish to slash into soft flesh with sharpened claws; he felt its need to escape the throbbing pain in an explosion of violence, blood and bleeding flesh. Let someone else carry its pain. No! Chaiko resisted that vicious purpose, resisted the weakness of his own mind succumbing to the terror in front of him. He roused himself to fight, dropped to the ground as his hand grabbed a burning limb from the fire and threw it at the face of the crouching animal. The cat sprang back in one fluid motion easily avoiding the wood, but the shower of sparks confused it. Its body low to the ground, it surged forward again, snarling, flecks of foam spitting through its bared teeth. Yellow fire blazed in those eyes, half crazed with pain far beyond any restraint of caution. Still between growls, it whimpered, licked its paw then shook its head in denial. Then the lips curled in renewed rage as a fresh paroxysm of pain exploded throughout its body. Every sinew taut, every nerve aflame, claws unfurled and dug deep into the soil, it made ready to spring.
Hate burned in that gaze, but the human returned it look for look. The eyes locked. Measure for measure, the son of the Standing-Rock Clan stood up against the beast. The cougar trembled with murderous intent, but that thin thread of resolve shining in the human eyes held him at bay. “You will not jump! You will not pounce!” Chaiko aimed the thought at the cougar, coiled and ready. The eyes bored into each other, and each saw the nature of the other, the manchild’s and the beast’s, and it was the beast that flinched and looked away.
The cougar reared and roared again, its claws ripping the soil, but they both knew the struggle between them was already decided, and it was the cougar that backed away. Favoring its injured paw, it wheeled, screaming its frustration into the night. In reply, Chaiko howled in victory like the wolf his people revered. The cougar slunk away and the darkness covered its retreat.
People came boiling out of the cave. “What is it?” Baer, the leader, demanded. “Cougar,” Chaiko could reply almost calmly, though his heart thundered in his chest. Then he hurried to add by way of explanation, “It was crazed with hurt. Nearly ignored the fire.”
A stocky man strode to the fore, spear in hand, clutching some skins around himself. He bent over the signs on the ground and confirmed, “Wounded.” He looked into the darkness, then at the smallness of Chaiko. He wondered what could have stopped the crazed cougar; its intentions were clear in the sand. There was nothing in its way that he could see. Puzzled, he shook his head. Certainly not a cripple.
Baer called out loudly, “Only a cougar that passed by,” and he herded the people back into the cave. “Go to sleep,” he told his mate, reassuringly calm, and pulled the covers over himself. All around people settled down, but sleep did not come so easily, for there were few things in life as bone-chilling as a cougar’s full scream of rage when frustrated.
Chaiko was again alone in the flickering circle of the fire. Slowly his heart settled to a steady rhythm, and his breath came more easily. The wonderful clarity of his mind faded as his perception dulled. The cave behind him stirred a few more times, but eventually settled into a troubled sleep.
This had been a very unusual night, Chaiko concluded. No animal had ever challenged the cave so, with the guard fire protecting its approach. But Chaiko knew that this time it was not the fire that had turned back the animal, but human spirit that had dared to stare danger down. He had not flinched, he realized in triumph, warmed with the victory. But then came the chilling realization of what could have happened, the rampage of a crazed beast among the sleepers and the terror they had so narrowly escaped.
Chaiko stirred the fire, coaxing the embers with dry tinder and twigs, and soon the dancing flames lit up the mouth of the cave, a circle of light that stood against the darkness and the dangers outside. He placed a few larger pieces of wood among the leaping flames, big enough to provide a steady glow till daybreak without wasting wood that had to be brought from the valley below. This was his task, to tend the fire, to keep the prowling night animals and hostile spirits away. This night he had proven the worth of his service.
He looked to the east and saw a softening in the darkness there. The morning was near, and already the stars were fading as the depth of sky gradually dissolved in the rising light. This was always a time of danger, as predators hunted the unwary caught between night and the coming day. The night belonged to the giant hunting cats, to the rarer pack of dogs, to the hyena and the wolves. But daybreak was also the time when spirits were said to be most restless. Feeling the weight of the approaching light of day, they too would search out the shadows. The fire gave shelter against them, but the dance of shadows also hid them. Out of the corner of his eyes, Chaiko could feel a spirit slide away behind him. By the fire, in the comforting circle of heat, light and smoke, he felt safe.
Yesterday, Chaiko had seen the first red-necked thrush of the season, and recalled (as his mother often used to) how he was born on the day the thrush had arrived at the summer feeding grounds, now fourteen years ago. In a pouch around his neck were thirteen small stones marking each year since his birth. He unlaced the pouch and spilled its contents onto the soft leather spanning his lap. With the practice of many years he ordered them, the feel of each stone familiar even in the uncertain firelight. The first five stones for the Growing Years had been selected for him by his father. He clicked through the stones in order.
“The year of birth.................you were born crying.
The year of walking............you learned by trying.
The year of words...............you measured out meaning.
The year of listening...........to teach your ear hearing.
The year of thought.............to find your way to reason.
It takes five years................to make you a person.”
He dropped each stone into the pouch as he counted through the singsong cadence of the mnemonic. He hurried through five more for the Learning Years, then slowed as he encountered the more recent three years of impatient waiting for the fourteenth year: Becoming, a much anticipated event when a boy was asked to sit among the men in formal recognition of maturity. Yet to Chaiko it would be a bitter event, for as a cripple he was destined to remain a child forever. Four years had gone by since a rock slide had severed his left leg a handbreadth beneath the knee in a melee of rolling stones. Each day since he had had to fight the bitterness, for inside there was a body that still remembered being whole.
Veering away from that excruciating memory, Chaiko returned to the comfort of the stones. They clicked through his fingers, thirteen stones for thirteen years. He had found four likely pieces for his Year of Becoming, but could not focus on that bitter task of choosing one over another. Becoming? He had already been stamped a cripple, robbed of becoming. Just what would lie ahead? The fifteenth year was the Year of Search, of seeking a mate, but for him, just another empty quest. It was all too painful to contemplate.
There followed five years of power, the peak of a person’s strength and abilities, then five years of hope, when a person would see the children grow and hope for them in the future. After that, though people collected the year-stones still, the count was not worth remembering. A man was considered lucky who lived long enough to see his children reach Becoming, for most faced an unkind future of decline and ill health and the dependence of old age. There were few as old as Samar who, having accumulated wisdom from a long life, was now serving the clan. Could he, Chaiko, live as long as Samar and be as wise? To a cripple each day was long, he sighed, there was little wisdom in anguish, just suffering.
With great effort Chaiko focused on the four candidate stones. The year still had to be commemorated. Tradition dictated that the stone had to have some affinity for the purpose; after all the stone too had a history and maybe its own destiny. Perhaps most important, could the stone enhance his luck? Chaiko needed luck. He, more than others, had to be careful, to neglect nothing of significance. A rock slide had made him a cripple, and the cripple inside had made him cautious, always whispering, “Do not try too hard, for the harder you try, the harder it will be to accept giving in.”
Which one then? His fingers read the stones, one by one, to divine its suitability by feel. He chose one, a crystal embedded in basalt. Sharp points protruded from its core, giving it a painful bite. Yes, Chaiko was inclined to settle on it, but in the end put it aside, thinking best to consult Samar.
His thoughts turned even sadder, arriving to a place which he knew all too well. He had no past; both his parents were dead and his childhood was obliterated by an accident. Likewise he had no present; he was a burden to himself and to the clan. He had no future for he was destined to remain a child forever. Or was there yet a way to escape his fate? Dejectedly he shook his head. He had only his brother.
The thought of his brother warmed him and allowed him to escape the obsession with his hurt and to look at the clan more dispassionately. Baer stood out in their ranks, radiating a commanding presence, for he had won the clan’s respect by proving his courage and intelligence many times. He was a skilled hunter, with few to match him even though Tusk, his right hand and lead hunter, was stronger and Cosh, his left hand, age-mate and chief scout, was faster and keener in his senses. Still, Baer’s strength was combined with reason and unfailing fairness. Baer was usually serious, and only his young daughter Lana could make him laugh freely and lighten the burden of his cares for the clan. Chaiko was filled with admiration and love for his brother because Baer always had time for him, made him feel more than just a burden.
The two brothers looked very different. Twice Chaiko’s age, Baer was tall and barrel-chested, with great strength in his arms anchored in his sloping shoulders, and big hands that could easily cinch the waist of his mate, Tanya, before Lana was born. He used to hold the baby protectively in his arms cradled against his hairy chest, surprisingly gentle for such a powerful man.
Next to his brother, Chaiko looked slight, built along tough lean lines of long muscles. His greatest assets had been speed, agility and dexterity … the very things his injury robbed him of. Then, for about two years after his accident his body had stopped growing. Now, at age fourteen, he was noticeably smaller than his age-mate Crow.
Yet, in spite of all dissimilarities, people were often struck by the likeness the two brothers shared. It was most noticeable in the dark brown color and the set of their eyes, as they looked about, alert, inquisitive, full of intelligence, always watchful and aware. They had the habit of squinting a bit as if looking beyond things, searching for causes that shaped events and moved people, seeing more than did most and considering matters carefully. There was an openness about them, an acceptance of others which made both very approachable; that is, until Chaiko’s accident. Thus, while Baer had the wealth of experience that gave him confidence to channel his thoughts into decisions for the benefit of the whole clan, Chaiko had been robbed of the promise of a future. For Chaiko, one thought increasingly fed another, and he became more and more a thinker, an observer, destined to experience life second-hand.
It was generally considered by the clan that Baer made up for Chaiko’s lack. If Chaiko was unlucky, Baer was considered lucky. To many of the clan, it was bad luck that Chaiko survived; most felt that it would have been kinder for him to have died, because there was no role for a cripple. Chaiko felt the weight of the consequence of his survival, and was driven by it. He sought ways of making himself useful: his severed leg made him useless as a hunter, but he could fish, and when the hunters returned empty-handed, the fish he caught were welcomed. He could get around awkwardly with the help of stout crutches. In the presence of others, he tried not to move much. He hid his deformity from himself and his clan, and they conspired with him to overlook it.
