Alex Donnelly was alone. That’s how he wanted it. He told himself that’s how he liked it. That was a lie.

   The hawk whistled again and Alex opened his eyes, letting them fill with the sweeping green hills and wide brown Yukon River. As the boat caught and circled in a whirlpool he dipped his hand into the cold flow. Two minutes, he’d been told. If he fell in – or jumped – it would take two minutes for this river to kill him. He knew it was true because it had almost happened. He’d been looking for the cabin where he now lived, had beached at the mouth of the wrong creek and decided to wade to the other side to search for a trail. Half way across he realized he was in trouble. It was deeper than he’d thought and his legs were giving out. Then the bottom dropped off completely and he’d had to swim. He barely made it to the shore in time; he couldn’t stand when he got there. His legs were useless for several minutes, even though the sun was high and hot that day. He remembered he’d shivered for two days.

****

There is a very old technique, used by teachers for centuries. Jesus used it skillfully and often. When he wanted to teach his disciples something, he asked them questions. The dialogue that usually resulted not only revealed the answers, but caused them to think. He asked questions that made them examine themselves, their motives and their true beliefs.

It was Simon who answered first, proclaiming his belief – “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (v.16). Jesus responds by proclaiming Simon’s true identity. He calls him first by his biological name – he is Simon, the son of Jonah. Then he gives him a new name, a new identity – Peter, the rock, the one who will build the church, the one whose authority will reach into heaven itself.

After the crucifixion, after the resurrection, Jesus came and ate with Peter and a few other fishermen. Perhaps Peter had gone back to fishing, doubting that all those other dreams would ever come true. But Jesus broke bread with him again, and asked him another question, three times. “Simon, do you truly love me?”

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The Witnesses

(unpublished YA fantasy)

book one

Fiction By

Marcia Lee Laycock

CHAPTER 1

"Why are you doing this?" Arin spoke through clenched teeth as he thrashed around on the ground. Leather thongs binding his ankles and wrists twisted into his skin. His eyes were open but all he could see was a grey haze. He tried again to free himself, but his body felt limp, without strength. He blinked his eyes as a lumpish shape before him moved, but he could not bring it into focus. He kicked out at it.

"My father won't pay ransom!" Breathing hard, he tried to sit up. The shape moved again and Arin felt a large hand on his shoulder, pushing him down.

"Don't thrash about so, boy. Let the drug wear off in its own time."

The voice was strange to Arin, and seemed far away. His strength gave out again and he leaned back, aware of the heavy scent of pine boughs from beneath a rough blanket on which he lay.

"Where am I?" His own voice sounded weak, disconnected from his body. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. "Am I dreaming?" he mumbled.

Rough hands released the thong on his wrists and he felt a cool liquid at his lips. He sipped, then drank greedily. The hands pushed him back onto the blanket, more gently this time. Arin could now make out the man's thickset body squatting beside him.

"Who are You?"

"My name is Thayer.

The man stood and moved into the darkness. A dull beam of light suddenly penetrated as he pulled a rough covering away from the entrance and stepped outside.

Raising himself onto one elbow, Arin blinked and squinted. As his eyes focused he realized he was lying on the floor of a small cave.

Thayer returned with a pack and began spreading cooking utensils on the ground. Arin watched as he skillfully lit a fire, blowing slowly on the coals until the wood caught. As the flames grew, Arin studied him. His features were strong, the beard trimmed, black hair cropped short around his face. Thick unruly eyebrows curled out over deep-set eyes. The eyes were staring at him. "There will be food soon," he said.

Arin's heart raced. He was looking at a Mountain Clansman! He had always scoffed at the stories about the mountain people. A rarely seen, wild race, it was said they raided the valley farms for grain, fruit and, sometimes, slaves. Arin had thought the tales were told to frighten children into obedience. Now he wondered how much of what he had heard was true. Dizzy and weak again, he slumped back and closed his eyes. Thayer was quickly at his side, holding his shoulders as he offered him another drink of the cool water. In a few moments Arin's head cleared and he was able to sit up as Thayer took the thong from his ankles.

"My father won't pay ransom," Arin rpeated, trying to sound defiant, but his voice sounded feeble and afraid.

The man stared at him for a long moment before answering. "You will have answers to your questions soon. I can tell you nothing now." He stood abruptly and strode back to the fire.

Their meal was a thick stew. Arin wondered what the meat was, but ate a good portion and felt better for it. When they were finished, Thayer packed up quickly, helped the boy to stand and led him out of the cave. The night was just beginning. Arin shivered as they walked into the open air. Thayer laid a heavy cloak over his shoulders and helped him mount a rough-looking pack horse. Grasping both the boy's wrists in one large hand, he quickly bound them together and to the saddle-horn. When Arin stiffened, the man looked up into his face.

"Don't resist me, boy. It will go easier for us both."

The tone of his voice made Arin relax. He looked into Thayers eyes and knew the man did not intend to harm him.

"Where are you taking me?"

"You will know the place when you arrive." Thayer leaped onto the back of another horse, pulling on the reins of the boy's mount as they started forward.

They travelled at a quick trot, always in the trees, never crossing open ground. The night was overcast and moon-less and Arin marvelled at how their horses picked their way in the darkness. At no time did he recognize any landmark or lay of land that might tell him where they were. Twice he thought he saw lights far off through the trees, but both times they veered well away from them, giving him no opportunity to cry out. At times fear threatened to pound its way into his mind, but Arin challenged it. I’m safe enough with this Clansman, at least for now, he thought. He tried to see his circumstance as an opportunity. Lately he had been discontented with life in his father's castle. He had longed to ride out into the country, to live out his own adventure. Well, this certainly is adventure, of a sort, Arin thought. The last effects of the drug had worn off and a trembling excitement kept him wide awake.

For the past while the land had been steadily rising. Arin's heartbeat quickened as he realized they were drawing closer and closer to the mountains. As darkness gradually began to give way to a soft dawn light, he stared up at the rough walls of rock that brought an abrupt end to the fertile valley where he had lived all his life. So often he had gazed from the windows of his father's castle, drawn by these gleaming peaks and rugged cliffs. He was never allowed to ride anywhere near them, not even with Kenan, his guardian and constant companion.

Arin's inspection of the mountains was interrupted as the ground rose up in front of them and he heard Thayer speak softly to his horse. Then he was thrown forward, his face touching the horse's neck as it lunged upward. He tightened his grip with his legs until they were on even ground again, a wall of rock rising close beside him on his right, another on his left. It seemed as though they had entered a crack in the mountain’s side.

The horses' hooves clacked loudly on bare stone now, the sound echoing high above their heads. Arin was about to ask where this corridor led, when they came to an abrupt halt. His heart stopped as he heard the echo of another's horse.

CHAPTER 2

Kenan dismounted and looked down on the Valley of Lin from the crest of a low hill. He had been hunting since first light and it was good to stretch. A stocky man, he was powerfully built, with a shock of red hair and cropped beard that hid a strong protruding chin. It had been a good morning and he smiled as he looked out over the valley. It always looked the same, yet was always changing as the light and shadow played upon it. The fertile land lay now beneath the late summer sun, a wide swath patched with the colours of ripened crops and orchards, bordered by flowering shrubs and large spreading oaks. The pattern was interrupted here and there by winding creeks and rivers flowing down from the distant mountains. Straight neat roads stretched the full length of the valley.

Kenan sighed with satisfaction as he watched the progress of the group of men he had sent on ahead with the morning's kill. Fresh venison would be welcomed in the castle kitchens, and on the King's plate.

Just as well Arin didn't come along, he thought. Perhaps some time spent away from each other will help.

The boy had been unusually difficult lately, especially the past few days, just before his sixteenth birthday. Celebrations had been held the night before in the great hall of King Gerin's castle, but even then he had been moody and aloof. Perhaps he is finally beginning to take seriously his position as the King's only son, Kenan thought. He'd have a talk with him, after telling him about the hunt. Suddenly Kenan straightened, staring as a rider quickly covered the distance between them. He was disturbed to see it was a soldier, armed and dressed for battle.

The man was breathless by the time he reached Kenan. "The King asks that you return to the castle at once, sir."

The guardian leapt onto his horse. "Why? What's happened?"

"It's the King's son, sir."

"Arin? What about him?"

"He's disappeared, sir. They think he's been taken, sometime last night."

Before the messenger finished his sentence, Kenan was half way down the hill, whipping his horse into a full gallop as he made straight for the home of Gerin Lin.

Charging through the village that surrounded the castle, Kenan noted the agitation among the people. The square was full of men, some already dressed to ride, but their confusion was obvious. In the courtyard itself the scene was not much different, as men milled about, waiting for orders. He was met by his page who grabbed the reins of the horse as his master leaped from the animal's back.

"The King's in the great hall, sir." He caught Kenan's arm before he could turn away. "Caution, master, they say he's in a rage."

Kenan nodded. He had seen the King's anger before, but this time he knew much of it would fall on him. When he was announced, those gathered around fell silent and stepped back. Kenan strode forward, dropping to one knee as Gerin Lin turned to face him.

The King looked down for a long moment at the strong back and bowed head of the man he had trusted with his son's life. At last he spoke. "Get up, Kenan."

The tone of his voice sent a chill down Kenan's back, but the guardian stood erect and looked directly into his King's face.

"Why were you not with my son last night?"

"Sire, I was with him, until he withdrew from the feast and said he wished to be alone. We had planned to hunt together this morning, but he changed his mind and said not to look for him until I returned. He has been brooding lately, Sire, and I did not want to intrude. I saw no reason to hover over him, not here, in your own castle. The

messenger said he has been taken, Sire, but perhaps he has only ridden out on his own. He has been so restless...."

"No!" The King whirled around, picked up a wide leather thong from a table and tossed it to him. "He is not alone."

The guardian examined the tooling on the leather before he spoke. "The Clansmen? But why.... ?"

"They have no doubt been paid, and paid well, by the Alinga."

Kenan's heart stopped. The Alingan people had given them no serious trouble for many years, not since they were driven from the valley into the inhospitable lands on the other side of the mountains. He knew there had been an increase in skirmishes lately. He had heard the rumour that the Alinga had allied themselves with the Mountain Clansmen, but he had not believed it. The Alingan King had been killed in the last war. The people were completely beaten. Without a leader they would be too concerned with merely surviving to start another war. He fingered the piece of leather in his hand. But why would the Clansmen kidnap the heir to the Linian throne?

CHAPTER 3

Arin's head was jerked back as Thayer abruptly started forward again. They seemed to be moving in an arch now, curving to the right. A dim light grew brighter as they moved forward. Soon he could see Thayer's shape ahead of him and make out faint detail in the rock walls on either side. Echoes still rang from them, but he could not tell, now, if they were just the sounds of their own mounts or if there were others. They continued for what seemed like a very long time, the passageway gradually becoming straighter and brighter, then widening until they were in a large cavern. Thayer stopped in the center of it. Arin twisted around in his saddle, trying to measure its size.

It was immense - larger than the great hall in his father's castle. The walls appeared to have been hand hewn so the light was reflected and refracted until the entire chamber from top to bottom was lit. He was so fascinated, he failed to notice a horseman appear opposite them, until the horse and rider moved forward. Arin sat rigid in his saddle and stared.

The man looked too large for his mount, his long legs almost touching the ground, but his back was straight and he looked very strong. He wore a heavy grey tunic belted with a bright crimson sash. His hair was almost completely white, pulled back and tied with a leather thong. Arin knew the thong was carved with the designs of the mountain people, but he also knew at once that this man was not of their race.

Thayer exchanged a brief greeting with the stranger, handed him the reins to Arin's horse and turned his mount's head to face the boy. "Perhaps I will see you again." He gave a quick nod, kicked his horse into a trot and was gone.

The man maneuvered his mount alongside Arin's, quickly undid the bindings on his wrists, and handed him the reins.

"Who are you?" Arin asked.

"I am called The Abbot."

Arin hardly breathed as the words filled the empty cavern with an echoing whisper. The man turned his horse's head toward the far side of the cavern. "Follow me," he

said, and disappeared into a barely visible crack in the wall.

Arin glanced once over his shoulder in the direction in which Thayer had gone, then, with clenched teeth, kicked his horse and followed the Abbot. They entered another corridor, one more poorly lit and much narrower than the other. It seemed they made several changes in direction as they went, but Arin was not sure. He concentrated on the vague shape of the horse and rider in front of him, aware only of a draft of cold air which now and then blew down from above. His mind raced with the knowledge that this was the legendary Abbot. Like the stories about the Clansmen, Arin had thought the tales about him were myth. He searched his mind for all the stories he had heard.

It was said this man could make rain and lightening fall from the sky at will, that he froze men's bodies though their minds struggled to move them, and that he knew a man's past and future merely by a glance in his eyes. Arin had believed none of it until now, until he had heard the man's voice and looked into his face. There was indeed power there. A great deal of power. Arin could not help the shudder that crept up his back as he wondered, what does he want with me?

He wondered, too, where they were going. Was he being led through the mountains to Alinga territory on the other side, or were they going deep into the heart of the mountain

itself? It seemed to Arin that the second prospect was the more tolerable. He had heard stories of the Alinga, too, and he doubted none of them.

In a while the light and air in the corridor began to change. He could see more clearly and it was much colder. A strange vibrant howl made him pull up sharply on his horse's reins.

The Abbot glanced over his shoulder. "Pull your cloak about you, Arin, the wind is stronger up ahead."

Embarrassed at being startled by something so obvious, Arin busied himself with his cloak. It took only a few more paces for them to feel the full blast of the wind. It cut at Arin's face and brought water to his eyes. He hunched over, relying on his mount to follow the horse ahead as they plodded slowly upward.

In time the wind blew less fiercely and Arin was able to lift his head and open his eyes. He stiffened with fear. They were on a narrow ledge on an open mountain side, the horses' feet rising and falling dangerously close to the unguarded edge. He forced himself to breathe deeply and concentrate on the slow easy rhythm of the man's body on the horse ahead of him. Gradually he relaxed. Looking out over the mountain tops he was overwhelmed by the power of the landscape. It was fierce, rigid and silent. Massive slabs of rock thrust into a pale morning light, each crevasse and crag glowing, seeming to hold an inner power, a power that could never be destroyed. Arin's mind reeled as he gazed out over the range that seemed to have no end. He did not realize they had stopped on a small plateau. Neither did he notice that he was being watched.

The Abbot studied the boy for some time, then followed his gaze out across the vast range of mountains. For a long while they sat in silence. When the man finally spoke, Arin felt as though a spell had been broken, or perhaps cast, as he listened to the deep voice that was so strong yet full of wonder.

"There are many mysteries in this world, Arin. Many questions without clear answers. Sometimes it can seem that the world is made of shifting sand. I think that is why the Creator has given us this." He spread his arm, taking in the rugged landscape. "Here a man can know that there is a firm foundation."

The rest of their journey was not long. The narrow trail wound around the mountain and down into a small hidden valley. As they descended, Arin was amazed at the lush green grass and the sweet smelling breeze. At the far end of the meadow a thin plume of smoke rose. Riding toward it at a brisk pace, he could vaguely see the outline of a house tucked up against the mountain. If it had not been for the smoke rising from its chimney, he was sure he would never have noticed it. At first it seemed to be all roof, large curving beams sweeping down, following the curve of the mountain, but as they drew closer Arin could see windows facing onto the meadow, and a heavy carved wooden door, standing open.

The Abbot led them to one side of the house and dismounted before a small barn half hidden by trees. When Arin stepped down from his horse he was surprised his legs wobbled and would barely support him. He clutched the saddle as the Abbot came to his side. When Arin tried to step away, his legs gave out entirely and he sank toward the ground. The Abbot caught him up and supported him as they walked toward the house. He looked down into the boy's face and grinned. "Mountain air is thin. It will make you light-headed at first. Some warm stew will help to put your feet back under you."

Arin remembered his last meal. It seemed a long time ago. How long had he been riding? How long had he been away from his father's castle? For the first time Arin thought of his father and of Kenan, his guardian. He knew they would be looking for him. His father would be furious. Kenan, Arin knew, would be tormented with worry.

As he was helped like a child into the warm house, Arin’s confusion flooded over him. Why was he brought here? What were they going to do to him? How could he hope to escape? As questions flowed through his mind, he was overcome by weariness. Soft voices greeted them but he did not lift his head. Soon he realized he was lying on a small bed under a heavy quilt, and he gave himself over to sleep.

CHAPTER 4

It was evening before Thayer reached his destination. The ride had been long and cold, the mountain winds blowing with the fierceness of winter. He wondered if the snow would come early this year and he wondered what other changes the winter would bring. He sat his horse for a while, observing the place. It was a large castle, though not as grand as the one he had slipped in and out of so easily only a few days before. He knew he would have no hope of getting in or out of this one unseen. He shivered. The place was made of black stone and seemed to menace the buildings about it. Its turrets thrust up from the ground as though they were stakes driven into the heart of the land. With resignation he dismounted, spoke to his horse and approached the House of Malnar on foot.

At the gates he was questioned, then led in through a bare courtyard, along cold dim corridors until finally the guard halted and opened the doors into a large hall. The Duke sat at a table laden with food and drink. He was a tall man with a large florid face dominated by thick wide lips. His shoulders were broad but rounded, giving him the appearance of being much shorter than he was. He did not look up when the Clansman entered, but continued eating with his hands. Thayer watched as a page announced him. He was beckoned forward immediately and the hall slowly grew quiet as he walked directly toward the leader of the Alinga. The two men eyed each other.

"Well?" The Duke rose from the table as he spoke.

"It is done."

"Where is he?" Malnar leaned forward, not taking his eyes from Thayer's face.

"In a place where no-one will find him."

The Duke straightened, his nostrils flaring, the veins in his thick neck protruding as rage reddened his face. "I wanted him brought here!"

"That is not possible now. He struggled. We had no choice."

"You killed him?"

Thayer's voice remained calm and expressionless. "We did what had to be done."

The Duke glared at Thayer for a long moment, then his face changed. He smiled. "So. The House of Lin is as good as dead." He grabbed a cup from the table, raised it high and threw back his head. "And the House of Malnar will be victorious at last!"

The people in the hall broke into loud cheers as the Duke motioned for Thayer to sit at the table. Thayer shook his head, raising his voice to be heard above the din. "It has been a long journey. I must rest briefly and return, to avoid suspicion."

"Yes, yes, but have a mug of grog, man. This is a day to celebrate, for all of us, your people and mine."

"I am not accustomed to such things. I must go, now." He bowed slightly from the waist, turned on his heel and strode toward the doors. He was within five steps of them, aware of the sudden quiet that had fallen once again in the hall, when the Duke's voice rang out. "Clansman!"

Thayer turned and faced the man across the large room.

"I will look for you when the war begins."

Thayer nodded. "And I will be ready, when the time is right."

To read more, or to comment,contact

Marcia@ vinemarc.com (delete space when emailing)

this page updated March 18,2008

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