The Knowledge Stone (3 page)

Old Malik stood completely still and said nothing for several minutes. Then, he turned on his heel and walked off down the hill. ‘You can eat after you give that beast a drink.’

Standing some distance away, Joachim barely heard the rapidly fading words, carried away on the wind. Obediently, the boy visited the stream and fetched water for his bullock; he also watered Old Malik’s animal at the bottom of the field. Although Old Malik had not ordered him to do this, he knew from bitter experience that he would be in trouble if he did not attend to the other beast. At times, Old Malik used such tricks as an excuse for beating the boy.

‘I hope this will please him,’ Joachim thought. He also fed both animals by laying down a pile of sweet-smelling hay for each. Then, sitting under the thin branches of the spindly tree in the top corner of the field, he spread out his daytime meal on the cloth. The boy observed with gratitude that the slices of bread were thicker than those he had been given in the morning. There was a thick piece of cheese and a small pat of butter, too. To drink, Maretta had included a pot of mead, made from the honey produced on the farm.

‘What a feast,’ the boy thought, ‘I’m really lucky to be given such good food.’ Within a short time, the midday meal had been consumed and the boy prepared to have a short rest before starting again on the exhausting task of ploughing. ‘Anyway,’ he thought, ‘my beast needs to rest.’

The boy knew that Old Malik always returned to the farmhouse for his midday meal and that he would be absent for quite a long time – much longer than the brief respite that Joachim was allowed. Because of this, the boy knew that he could rest safely for a time, which he could measure by the creeping shadow of the tree across the ground. He knew he must be hard at work when Old Malik returned to the lower part of the field. He marked the position of the shadow, lay back and stretched luxuriously. ‘Yes, life is good,’ he thought., ‘I’m not hungry or thirsty, my back is only slightly sore and I can be alone and relax for a little while.’

Time passed and Joachim’s thoughts wandered gently. Then a feeling of unreality crept over him slowly, a feeling he had never experienced before. It was strange but not unpleasant so he was not frightened or worried by it. He felt almost connected to the earth rather than lying upon it. He heard, or rather, sensed the start of a gentle sound. At first he could not identify what it was but then he realised it was like the rustling of many leaves when the wind blew through a large broad-leafed tree. The sound strengthened progressively until it pervaded his mind. A deep peace descended upon him.

Time passed.

‘Crack!’ A dry twig below his shoulders snapped, a tiny sound that exploded in his mind like a clap of thunder. The boy sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and fearful, focussing with difficulty to scan the field before swivelling round to check the position of the tree shadow.

‘Not much movement,’ he breathed gratefully. However his sudden awakening had shaken him considerably and he also felt peculiar, as if something special had happened. Scanning all around, he could not see anything untoward; still the fine sunny day, the quiet field and, thankfully, no sign of Old Malik. ‘A funny dream,’ he concluded, ‘I wonder what it means.’ The boy knew that dreams could be messages from the spirits.

As he continued to sit quietly on the ground, he felt there was still something he must do, but he couldn’t think what it might be. Again, he looked around carefully – nothing different or strange. It was when he turned to admire the straight furrows of his ploughing that he saw something odd. There, some distance away in the bottom of his last furrow, was an intense, sparkling light. Of course the boy had seen things reflecting the sunlight before; some stones sparkled, or sometimes water droplets on the grass reflected the sunlight in beautiful pinpoints of light – but this was different – bigger, brighter.

‘What can that be?’ he asked himself and went to investigate.

The object proved to be unremarkable. A small pale yellow stone projecting vertically from the ground, roughly cylindrical in shape but with two smooth depressions on each side of the cylinder towards the top. He stretched out a hand and picked it up, his forefinger and thumb slipping naturally into the smooth cavities. As he did so, he imagined he felt a peculiar little jolt deep in his body.

‘Must be the effect of the mead,’ he thought. He examined the stone from all angles and noted that it was quite light in weight. At first he thought it was completely plain and smooth but closer examination revealed shallow striations from end to end and it was from these shallow marks that the sun reflected brightly. ‘Maybe it’s magic,’ he thought, but he smiled as he said this because, unlike the people in olden times, he did not believe in magic stones. ‘But it’s really quite nice; I’ll keep it in my pouch. It can be my secret,’ he thought, and felt quite pleased that he had something in his possession that no-one knew about.

Now he walked back to the tree and checked the shadow.

‘Better get started again,’ he thought, ‘Old Malik will be coming back soon.’ He felt particularly calm and rested. The bullock was roused, re-harnessed to the plough and work restarted.

Not long after, when Joachim was about halfway along his new furrow, the burly, grizzled figure of Old Malik appeared at the lower corner of the field.

In his life, Old Malik had actually had four names. He had been born on the farm and, as the firstborn son, had followed the local tradition of taking his father’s name. Thus, the sturdy baby who grew into a small boy was called Little Malik, his first designation. Later, as he grew up to become a strong and muscular boy, his name was changed to Young Malik. Two decades later, on the death of his father, Young Malik became the owner of the farm and became plain Malik for many years. In time, his lined, weather-beaten face and grizzled hair transformed him into Old Malik, arguably his final incarnation. However, no-one ever called him Old Malik to his face (no-one would have dared!); in the local villages where he appeared occasionally to buy, sell or barter, his few acquaintances would shake his hand and call him Malik.

On the farm, Maretta spoke very little to him and, these days, never spoke his name; for many years, she had addressed him only as “Husband”. Likewise, he addressed her as “Wife”. Of course Joachim or Giana were not entitled to speak the names of Old Malik or Maretta but acknowledged them as Master and Mistress on the very few occasions they were required to speak. Normally, Old Malik did most of the talking and no response was required or expected!

Old Malik was a man who lived in the present; he gave little thought to the future and seemed to have no interest in the past. In fact his childhood had actually been happy and secure. Although his father set the Young Malik to work on the farm at quite an early age and required a good standard of work from him, he was always pleasant and fair to him. He loved his son and wished him well. Young Malik was strong and physically well-coordinated so he did not find his work on the farm onerous.

However, the academic side of Young Malik’s training never went so well. His father was an educated man who could read and write well; in addition he had enough skill and understanding of figures to keep the farm accounts meticulously. Naturally, he wished to pass on all these talents to his son and spent many long hours teaching him reading, writing and basic numerical skills, as well as passing on the considerable general knowledge he had acquired during his life. With dogged persistence, Young Malik eventually was able to read and write and became sufficiently numerate to deal with simple accounting procedures.

His mother was a cheerful, energetic woman who doted upon her first-born son. She spoiled him when she could and clearly favoured him over her other children. She arranged that he sat next to her at family meals and surreptitiously fed him the best bits of food from the communal dishes before the others could take them. During the day, she attended to him assiduously any time he was present, making sure his clothes were always in good repair and putting delicious tit-bits in his food bag when he left for work.

The two younger children, twin girls, would sometimes protest to their father about this favouritism but he would smile at them warmly, saying: ‘No, you’re wrong. Your mother loves you all equally and so do I.’ Then, to prove it, he would give each of his children an equal share of food and a small cup of beer. Of course the younger children were unconvinced but as members of a happy family, they accepted the situation with equanimity on most occasions.

The years passed and Young Malik grew into one of the most physically attractive young men in the area, receiving many admiring glances from the young local girls when he accompanied his father to the surrounding villages. Also, the people of the area treated him with increasing respect, since they recognised him as the heir to the farm, which, in these days, was one of the finest in the region. In this country, it was the norm for the eldest son to inherit family-owned land from their father; if the land had a farm operating upon it, then the inheritance became the farm in its entirety.

Old Malik’s father was a very successful and progressive farmer, knowledgeable in all matters of cultivation. In addition, he was notably shrewd in business and particularly good at dealing with people. Unlike the many tenant farmers in the region, he actually owned his farm. Many years before, he had been able to buy the farmland from the local landowner; rumour had it at the time that some sort of favour had been involved with the deal but the exact details of the transaction were unknown.

Naturally, the handsome eldest son of a local farm owner was especially attractive to those families who had daughters in the appropriate age range! In the local community, there were quite a number of families who were anxious for their daughters to become known to the attractive Malik; this even included the family of the rich landowner who had sold the farmland to Malik’s father. This important family lived in a large stone house in the middle of a large tract of forested land. Young Malik’s mother was ambitious for him and, as mothers do, she did all she could to direct him in the direction of the landowner’s daughter.

On the other hand, Young Malik’s father was indifferent to this possible union of families. He was interested in the continuation of the farm under the ownership of his son and he had for years done his best to train him in all the various skills and techniques he would need. Although he recognised that his son certainly had the physical stature to handle all aspects of the farm work, he was disappointed that Young Malik was slow to learn the more complex skills of farming and business. In truth, Young Malik could not comprehend the more complex ideas his father wanted him to understand. The teaching was repeated many times but progress was slow and unreliable. Young Malik continued to be confounded and confused while his father despaired.

Time passed and, after very delicate negotiations between the two families, Young Malik had been introduced to the daughter of the local landowner. Unfortunately, she proved to be a thin, dull and insipid girl with an extremely haughty manner. Young Malik’s mother was highly delighted; she had worked long and hard to achieve this situation and now all her plans were coming to fruition! She calculated that the status of her family would be greatly enhanced by this union. Who knows, maybe her husband could use his knowledge, skill and charm to become an important landowner himself, instead of just a farmer. She could see herself living in a big house with many servants: ‘Oh, life could be so wonderful!’ she cried in delight – and danced around the room!

Her husband, poring over some accounts at a table in the corner of the room, looked up and gave her a wan smile. He guessed the train of her thoughts. He wished that Young Malik could acquire his farming skill or business sense or, at least, some of his mother’s sparkle. In his father’s company, the young man seemed particularly slow and dull: ‘Maybe he’s a really good match for that pathetic girl,’ he thought sadly. But in his heart he knew better, because he knew that the wife of a farmer needs to be strong, dedicated and hard-working. From what he had seen of the landowner’s daughter, she would certainly not fit the bill as a wife for his son. Putting down his pen, he sighed.

More months passed and it was now arranged that Young Malik should make visits to the landowner’s house to become acquainted with his daughter. He would arrive each time with a small gift for the girl, giving it to her nervously as she sat waiting. On each occasion, she would set the gift aside without comment. She made no attempt to make conversation, merely indicating that he should sit down. Of course the two young people were never allowed to be alone together.