The Stone of Verabith

By KMK

Cecil Laurier lives in a society where your rank is determined by your occupation. Champions rule the land while Operfixes and Casters stand on the sidelines. Cecil's day-to-day life includes caring for her grandfather and cousin in a traditional Operfix store, working on repairs and dealing with rude customers. When Champions start monitoring the shop's every move, Cecil soon discovers that her grandfather's past threatens the future of her family and society. Cecil will do anything to restore order, even if that means confronting her family's complicated history. When entrusted with the legendary Stone of Verabith, Cecil embarks on a quest with her brilliant cousin and a questionable ally to return the magical artifact to its rightful owner. Along the way, the trio is chased by young Champion Marc Thatcher who has dedicated his life to serving the government that raised him. As the chase continues, Thatcher begins to question everything he was taught. With whimsy, monsters, baked goods, and a lot of heart, the Stone of Verabith dives into what it means to be a hero.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: KMK
• Release date: Jun 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224408542

KMK

KMK is a journalist and artist. Her work can be found in various media publications pertaining to the arts including Fashion360Magazine and BroadwayWorld. KMK loves to share stories of family, strong women, romance, and magic. When she's not writing she can be found outdoors with her mini Aussie.

Book preview

Prologue

The woman stood under an awning staring at a bronze shop that glowed in the dark street. The bay window read Wensworth & Sons-World of Wonders in faded gold lettering.  Intricate trinkets filled the shop in a low glow. A couple passed by her, huddled close together in the cold, bathed by the soft glows of the lamp lights. They made their way hastily down the cobblestone road, avoiding the drizzle. She gave a small smile from the shadows, then returned to the task at hand, eyes intently watching the shop across the way.

Behind the glass, she could see an assortment of oddities. A bronze golden music maker stood open, showing a ballerina dancing in the dim. Repurposed mirrors lined the front window for observers to catch a glimpse of themselves, vintage swords from the Days of Del gleamed for collectors. A wave of nostalgia hit her, but she quickly brushed off the sensation as if the memories had stung her. It was a small place, but it was quaint and welcoming.

The most astounding sight were the clocks that lined the back wall, each intricate and uniquely made by the shop owner and his granddaughter. They were barely visible, but intriguing, nonetheless. A cuckoo sat perched on top of a mantle, rubies gleaming for eyes. On another, silver owls framed the clock face, staring out into the midnight street. 

The woman was struck by how the owner maintained his art after all these years. An eyesore to society but a haven to a lost soul like hers. Stunning. Intricate. Reliable.

The rain had been falling all day, a testament to the end of Spring. She shifted slightly, pulling her velvet cloak further over her head to hide her face from the wet cold. Her gray eyes watched as a curtain in the window above the shop gave a slight pull. She had been spotted. 

She grinned. She wasn’t one to shy away from attention, even given her certain circumstances. Despite the late hour, she knew he would come. He always did.

She watched as a lantern slowly glowed to life, floating from the back of the shop and towards the bay window. The bronze door of the shop opened to reveal a man in his late 60s. His beard was gray and despite being in his nightclothes, he still managed to carry himself with pride. He met her eyes. The lantern hung from the golden cane in his right hand used to support himself. An injury rewarded years prior. He settled against the doorway, waiting for her. A mischievous smirk crept across his face. He stared at her for a second longer, then slowly turned, walking back into his home. 

That was all she needed. She followed him.

...

The man sat across from the woman at an oak table in his lodgings above the shop. An iron spiral staircase from the back of the shop led up to a kitchen and bedrooms. The kitchen was relatively crowded with gadgets to craft new inventions for the shop below. An ornate checkered teapot with a red knob sat on the stove, clashing with a set of worn floral tea cloths next to it. Six chairs sat at the square table, double the amount for those who lodged there. Wrenches, screws, and sketches littered the table. Despite the clutter, it was organized in its own way. A messy desk is a sign of genius in an odd way.

She sat at the head of the short table and he sat across from her. She looked to her left to see a short hallway leading to three bedrooms. He lowered his palm facedown, signaling to keep the volume down.

He eyed her carefully. A small plate of cookies sat between them and a steaming cup of Earl Gray with cinnamon sat in front of her. She gingerly took a sip, her eyes closing in delight at the sweet taste.

I take it you found me easily, the old man said, never taking his eyes off of her.

I never forget old friends, the woman said in a soothing voice. 

Her voice was like silk to his ears and he watched, mesmerized by how gracefully she sat in the old wooden chair. Her posture straight, her movements small and delicate. It showed no reflection of a woman who had endured so much pain.

I have a task for you, the woman continued. She smiled at him with warmth. Go ahead and take one. 

The man, who had been eyeing the cookies, looked away, embarrassed.

Never in the company of a lady does a lad eat first–

I insist.

It was all he needed. He scarfed down a cookie and sighed with content.

My granddaughter made these. Best in town, I say, he continued. Carry on, please.

The man looked sheepish, but quickly returned to attention. The woman laughed at the sudden change in demeanor and his faux cold expression soon slipped.

I need you to protect something. Something of my family’s, she said. She pulled a small jewelry pouch from the belt at her hip and tossed it in the middle of the table. An heirloom, one might say. Take a look.

He eyed the bag suspiciously. Gingerly, the man took the bag into his wrinkled hands as if it were a bomb about to explode. He poured the contents into his hand and gasped. A small silver necklace chain spooled into his hand, a silver locket hiding something inside. He carefully opened it. A small lavender gemstone blinked back at him. 

How did you get this? he gasped. It’s impossible, no one should have access-

It’s an heirloom. I have access to my own possessions, she replied. Her expression remained cool, but her tone was stern. She eyed him, for a split-second wondering if she had made the right decision.

Isi, you cannot possibly expect me to take on such a task. You are aware of my position, the risk it takes to even run this shop in this society, he protested.

I am aware that you are a man of honor and integrity, she insisted. I am aware that you will do the right thing with it in your hands.

He shook his head, slamming his fist on the table. It shook, but Isi barely flinched. She had anticipated some pushbacks.

Calm, dear, you wouldn’t want to wake your family, she said coolly. What a mess this would be to explain.

He took a moment to collect himself, then leaned forward. His voice became a hurried whisper.

That’s right, Isi. My family. My life. The people I have dedicated my life to. This isn’t a kind of game to play– 

They want it.

He paused. She watched.

What?

"They want to destroy the threat. Don’t you understand?" she demanded. He sat in silence. He twisted the chain of the locket between his fingers.

No. That’s too far, even for Rosen. It’s sacred, he said.

Have you known him to ever play fairly? To act with honor? After everything he did, She implored.  To me?...To you?

She peered at him with those bright eyes. She looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes and her once light hair had become white, wisps falling from its tied bun. She looked so small in that cloak. He looked at the purple that lined the inside, hiding under the black velvet. A small act of rebellion. 

As he looked at her, he was reminded of the girl she had been. For a moment she was there, lighter, softer, happier. And he was there too. Strong, reliable, a soldier.

How can I trust you? he asked.

You can’t, she answered honestly. And I give you no reason other than that it’s the right thing to do.

He caressed the glass casing that enveloped the stone.

I will always continue to serve you, he began. But I can’t promise that it will always be safe. I can just promise to help you as well as I can, given my limitations.

That’s all I need to know. You are the right person for this task.

I am old.

But your granddaughters are not.

He stopped. 

You are selfish to believe that I would ever sacrifice those girls for you. Maybe, years ago I would be foolish enough to make that decision, but I cannot accept this. I will be the sole protector. You can count on me, but they will live their lives.

She nodded. It’s easy to lie to yourself, she thought. Some things are simply beyond our control.

...

As he led her to the door, she stopped to look at him one last time. He was older, but he was still the Wensworth she had loved. His brown eyes were still unyielding, his demeanor still rugged, but gentle. Sheepish and silly when you truly knew him. He would always be a hero in her eyes. 

She clasped his cheek, quickly wiping a tear that fell down her face. He leaned over and kissed her cheek over the tear’s trail.

All I ask is that you protect my girls, he said. Stay safe, and remember you are always welcome here.

He watched her walk all the way out, ducking under her familiar cloak and into the deep night. 

He was wrong, she thought. She wasn’t welcome anywhere.

Chapter 1

Five Years Later

The day before everything changed, there was rain. Rain washes away the stains of the past. It cleans and cleanses everything we know. Our perception is blurred by its beauty, and our senses are shocked by its warm, sweet scent. All old tales begin on a dark and stormy night. We watch the storm, tearing, dramatic, raging. It purges the old, making way for the new.  And the little dreamer in each of us thinks to themself, anything can happen.

...

Cecil turned in her tiny bed and stared out the window. The soft patter of droplets knocked against the pane. She watched them trickle down and smelled the strong scent of coffee in the air. It was days like these when she wanted to stay trapped in that warmth. It was days like this when she didn't want to think about the shop, disgruntled customers, and her silly magic tricks. The iron clock above her wardrobe had different ideas for her.

She got up and threw on a bronze blouse that wrapped across the front, the neckline forming a low V. She paired the blouse with loose brown pants and lace-up brown leather boots. She eyed the bronze with a look of distaste and added a green pendant necklace to her outfit. The colors you wore represented your place within the country of Estoria, something she had once admired before she fully understood its implications.

She glanced at the time. The morning shift. She took one look at herself briefly in her full-length mirror before running out the door to grab a coffee in the kitchen before descending into the small shop below.

Another day of the same.

...

Cecil hated working the counter. If someone yelled at her in her shop where her grandfather Wensworth worked, she simply sat calmly until they were quiet. Most of the time, her lack of reaction caused them to become further enraged. She sat in silence and embraced it with a small polite smile. Then, she would apologize through gritted teeth. She had always hated that part.

Wensworth’s other granddaughter, Valaria, was a bit different when it came to difficult customers. So, when the gentleman who had forgotten to order a new sword began to terrorize Cecil as she calmly sat behind the counter, she waited, embracing the calm before the storm.

As his volume grew louder, Cecil suddenly became aware of a small, but mighty presence at her side.

Val- short, beautiful, and blunt- stood next to Cecil, presenting a faux polite smile to the man in question. The man appeared taken aback at her sudden appearance.

Val had a habit of that. She knew how