Read Online A Facet for the Gem by C. L. Murray - Free Book Online Page A

kinship with beasts of the wild, as if he could somehow empathize with them and they with him. But he had never experienced anything like this, almost able to inhale their bravery and resilience. Pulsing with humility, he moved through their ranks and knew without looking back that they were following him. He was glad to have their company, unsure of what or whom he would encounter as he journeyed farther.
    He had always been fascinated by stories of the Isle’s people, reclusive warriors whose strength and speed were said to be extraordinary, noted to emerge only when Korindelf was under attack. But why had none shown themselves this time? No tale he’d ever heard suggested they were prolific, but some could very well still reside here. And, if any did, he wondered how long it would be before they found him, since his presence was already quite conspicuous.
    Eventually the sound of water tickled his ears, and parting trees yielded to an open strip that sloped down toward a river. Its current was gentle, and it wound for miles past his vision east and west. He eagerly strode to it, convinced there could be no purer water anywhere, and got down on fertile soil that dampened hand and knee, drinking deeply. He dunked his entire head, scrubbing away all grime he had carried with him, not for the last few days, but years. After minutes of washing up for the first time in too long, he looked down at his reflection through dripping hair that clung to bruises and scars soon to be forgotten, and was clean.
    Purple hues painted the sky as night fell, and he decided to travel no farther until morning. He would rest within the woods, and rise at first light to follow the river east, though what compelled him to go in that particular direction he could not precisely say. Above all else, some inner part of him was being pulled that way.
    He reclined underneath the trees, and the lions keeping to his trail bedded down in a semicircle behind, where they seemed content to remain all through the night. Surrounded by his willing protectors, he lay in complete relaxation, and despite the horrors that had transpired that day, he could not help but feel happy, happier than he recalled ever having been in his sixteen years. He did not even remember that the Goldshard, which he had coveted for so long, sat in the pocket over his beating heart.
    He let all worries melt away, and sleep swept over him while the apples twinkled above, uncharted constellations within the forest. He needed no bed, no pillow, no fire; the Isle’s soil was soft, and its shelter warm.
     
    Morlen’s eyelids were slowly pried open by sunlight, and he awoke like he’d slept for years until this day. He could tell the lions were still close, feeling the air buzz with their focused interest in him. But, there was something else, someone else, a presence charged with loneliness built up over years of unbroken solitude, though it exuded great power as well. He gingerly rolled to his other side, and saw that a man stood a few paces off with his back turned, facing the river.
    “I envy you,” the stranger said. “Tasting the Isle’s divine fruit, feeling its unequaled comfort for the very first time. I myself was born here, and I took this place for granted until I left its shelter, long ago. When I came back, I was as you are now—alone, afraid of the world outside, immersing myself in the Isle’s pleasures and vowing never to leave again.”
    Then, the man turned around and looked down at him. At his side shone the steel grip of a large sword sheathed under his brown cloak. He folded both thick arms across his chest, which puffed out beneath light furs stitched together. His face and long hair were rugged, but his eyes were cool and relaxed.
    Morlen regarded him almost as an apparition brought on by the Isle. “You’re one of the people the stories are about,” he marveled.
    A grin opened up through the man’s dark beard, further diminishing his wild look. “Before