The Eye of Time

THE EYE OF TIME Part 1

A Prehistoric Saga

T.S. ROBEY

Sample Chapters

PROLOGUE

Arriving in the depths of winter, we had a cold, wet welcome to the shores of the Great Ocean. It had been such a long journey, for we had set out from the White Mountains a moon after midsummer, and we should have reached the coast by the onset of autumn. First, my brother Kefhan fell ill, so that we wasted almost a whole moon beside a broad river. Then I had a fall and was out of my wits for ten nights or more. A hard time we had of it, and often I feared this whole adventure was just folly. Now the winter weather set in; in village after dirty village, we could find no boatmen to carry us over the water to Syllan's island home, just beyond the horizon.

The first snow fell a few days before midwinter, then the skies cleared for several days. We could perhaps have crossed the straits then, but no one in their right mind would go to sea during the Soul Days, when the sun paused in its endless journey across the sky, when the spirits roamed freely through the long nights as the world waited for the cycle of life to turn once again and a new year to begin.

We celebrated the year's end with the Children of Ashila, a people scattered across a peninsular that jabbed like a pointing finger out into the Great Ocean. They spent most of the year feuding with each other over petty grievances that went back sometimes three or four generations but as the midwinter approached each year, the families made truces and came together at a place called Wyreshi, the Spirit Road. There, they maintained a short avenue of standing stones leading to a massive wooden enclosure in which the chosen among the dead were laid to rest and celebrations were held to honour their passing.

Our host was Cuhal, a healer of some renown in the region, and the seer officiating at the ceremonies. I remember him as a gaunt man, with a wispy beard and a belt of plaited fox-hide, the paws hanging down at intervals around his waist. He looked every inch a man of power and influence, and we automatically paid great heed to his words.

"The Children of Ashila greet you, Seer, and bid you welcome. I have seen your coming in the wind, have waited for you as the seasons changed, but you join us at last at the time of our gathering, and that must be a good sign."

"I am honoured and not a little surprised that you should see any significance in our coming." I replied, "I am Weyllan of the Children of Gehana, far towards the Great River of the Dawn. My companions and I will gladly join your gathering, for we have no wish to travel further in these dying days."

I introduced my brother Kefhan, Kirah, his wife, our guide Syllan, and the young warrior Tokhan, who served him as his companion and bodyguard. I explained that it was at Syllan's behest that we were on this journey, travelling to their country to practice my art and to teach his people the skill of making the moon-gold. The speeches over, he led us into a cluster of huts where two women stood by an open fire in the clay-floored yard, stirring what smelled deliciously like a hare stew whilst several small children played around them.

As we entered the hut beyond, Kirah held back, thinking I suppose to stay with the women, but Cuhal motioned her forward to go in with us. When my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw before me an elderly woman with a mass of curly grey hair, a prominent beak of a nose, and an air of relaxed authority. I realised with a start I was facing the Matriarch of the group, who raked us with sharp, intelligent eyes before breaking into a broad grin that revealed a mouth still filled with good teeth. Beside her stood her consort, a man not much older than myself, muscular and stocky, who remained silent but alert throughout our interview. I bowed my head cautiously to each in turn.

Even as Cuhal introduced her as Palla, the Matriarch stepped forward to examine me, then nodded to herself as if confirming an opinion.

"You and your companion wield true power in your work." She produced from beneath her cloak a small, shiny moon-gold knife. " Are you not the makers of such wonderful things as this? He who gave it to me said a mage from a distant land transformed a rare blue rock with fire to make it. And in my vision, I saw you working at such a fire, saw you pour the liquid rock– I knew that you had made this blade."