Ule leaned forward and plucked a stone from beneath her aching foot. She noted the stone’s pale yellow hue and the wavy black streak through its middle, like some nocturnal animal eye staring at her.

Turning it over in the palm of her hand , she humphed. She had created many different types of  rock in this world, and although she recognized the stone was mostly granite and a bit of quartz, she failed to understand how they combined in such a perfect pattern.

She brought it to her nose and sniffed. A hint of fresh earth and mildew lingered. She couldn’t tell if it was a natural odour belonging to the desert or the residue of magic scent.

“Be you alright ?”

She turned toward the familiar quavering voice of the old man who had spoken with her that morning. Though frail, thin, and hunched, he must have been impressive in his youth for he still towered over her.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, wiping her mouth.

“I see the sun kissed you today.”

She gently patted her cheeks and cringed at the way they stung. “It feels more like it slapped me a hundred times.”

The man snickered.

Ignoring the glassy look in his eye and the smell of rum on his breath, she eyed him from head to toe. He was certainly  very old and possibly wise enough to tell her what she needed to know.

“Perhaps you can help me,” she began. “Where are the Priests?”

The man’s face lit up. “ Oh there be quite a few in Woedshor , and a couple in the temple the other side of the desert thataway , and well, they be just about anywhere if you ask around.”

She glanced at the rock in her palm, ran her thumb along its smooth surface. She really  needed to find someone with a link to the An Energy, someone who was  aware of what they might call Magic. “What about witches?”

The man blinked. He stared into the air and scrunched his nose. “What is which- iz ?”

“How about sorcerers or wizards? Shamans? How about diviners or seers?”

“These be strange words.” He shook his head. “You do speak strange.”

Frowning, she peered at the ground and considered the possibility that there were no living creatures with special sight or knowledge of anything beyond their tangible world. Only some form of magic maker could detect and work with the intangible energies that permeated all matter.

“Do you know about Magic?”

The old man smiled. “Yes? What of it?”

Her heart fluttered. “Who are the magic makers?”

“They be the Mystics.”

Although she was relieved to hear a culture of magic existed, she thought it odd these ancient devotees had been the ones to develop it.

Darkness overcame the old man’s face. “What do you want with them?”

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The Forgotten Gemstone, Book One in A Xiinisi Trilogy

© Kit Daven & Eager Eye Books, 2013.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any matter whatsoever  without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review or critical article.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, situations, and references portrayed in this story either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Cover art by Sean Chappell, RedFracture .com.