The Eye of the Stone by Tom Birdseye

ridicule? He hoped not, really hoped not. He wanted to believe it was all sincere. Still, experience had bred caution.
    â€œHere we are!” Yed said. “The Hall of the Steadfast Order.” Stopping before a large wooden door in a stone wall, he thrust his right hand in front of his eyes, then drew it slowly away as he looked upward.
    Jackson followed Yed’s gaze. Directly above them, jutting out like a crude porch roof, was a platform of lashed branches. On it lay a dead ram, its limp neck draped over the edge, its tongue—red with blood—hanging out.
    Jackson took a quick breath. “Why is that there?” The glassy eyes of the ram held his own in a fixed stare. He felt both repulsed and fascinated at the same time.
    Yed turned to Jackson with a baffled expression. “It’s our sacrifice, of course. Surely you know—” He stopped and ran his fingers through his blond curls, peering into Jackson’s eyes. “You’ve been through a lot getting here to Timmra, haven’t you?”
    Jackson blinked and looked away from the dead ram. “You can say that again.”
    Yed’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Why would I repeat myself? A man’s words should stand strong the first time spoken.” But then he shrugged. “If you need anything said again, Jackson Cooper, I’ll do it.” And with that he stepped under the dead ram and rapped his knuckles on the door.
    There was the sound of footsteps, then a clank of metal as the bolt slid to one side. The door swung back. In the opening stood a large, fierce-eyed man, burly as a bear, with a bushy blond beard. His hand rested on the hilt of a great broadsword.
    Yed stood stiff at attention, his body taking on a sudden formalness, as did his voice. “Radnor,” he said, “Chieftain of All Timmra and Commander of the Steadfast Order.” Then he bowed.
    Although not used to bowing, Jackson quickly followed suit. There was something about Radnor that demanded it. Jackson’s eyes came down to the level of Radnor’s sword hilt. From that close he could see that the top knob had been carved into the shape of a clenched fist much like Radnor’s own thick fingers and broad knuckles. Everything about Radnor, Chieftain of All Timmra and Commander of the Steadfast Order, exuded power.
    Jackson bowed even farther. The stone pendant that hung from his neck swung out of the top of his shirt. He reached up and gripped it for a moment.
    From above came a voice like gravel. “Rise.”
    Jackson stood upright to find Radnor’s blue eyes boring into his. He almost looked away, but the warmth from the stone lingered, as did the sudden, mysterious sense of calm. He straightened his shoulders and held Radnor’s gaze.
    Radnor nodded. “Enter.”
    â€œWe enter,” Yed said, leading Jackson past the big man into a dim foyer. A lone torch flickered in its mount on the wall. The tart smell of burning pine pitch filled the smoky air. Beyond the foyer Jackson could barely make out the opening of a hallway. He peered down it but couldn’t see what lay beyond. No light came from within.
    â€œThis is Jackson Cooper,” Yed said to his father.
    Jackson turned to see Yed motioning toward him. The formalness, he noticed, was gone from Yed’s body and voice now that they were inside and the door to the alleyway was closed. Yed leaned close to his father. “I know it’s not my position to decide,” he said. “You alone can hear the voice. But I think he might be the One. He has magic.”
    Radnor’s eyes fixed on Jackson’s again. “Magic? What kind of magic?”
    Yed smiled. “Show him the watch, Jackson Cooper. Look there, Radnor, on his wrist.”
    Radnor bent down to examine Jackson’s wrist. “But I don’t see any—”
    â€œThe other wrist,” Yed said with a gentleness that startled Jackson. In Timber Grove no