Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (11 page)

Ucking
Jhon frowned as he caught sight of a small blue object on his pillow. Frowning,
he rolled onto his side and crawled towards it. He picked up the object and
examined it. It was a small, shiny stone, entirely smooth. His eyes widened as
he realised what it was.

“Oh fuck!
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK …”

*
* *

Mira
sat sobbing on the other side of the bedroom door as her mother pounded on it.
She was naked from the waist down. Beside her in a crumpled heap were her
undergarments. She looked at the blood that stained them and let out a new
howl.

“Mira,
honey, please let me in,” her mother said. “It’s the most natural thing for a
girl your age.”

Mira
squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. How could bleeding that much from
that area be natural? She awoke this morning to find her sheets soaked thick
and red. At first she was bewildered and thought her father must have spilt
wine over her when coming to check on her in the night. However, on closer
inspection she realised her trousers felt heavy and they were a dark red,
almost brown.

She
had cautiously placed a hand down inside her trousers and was horrified when
she felt the unmistakeable sticky substance between her legs. Not wanting to
but feeling compelled to, she had brought her hand up in front of her face.
When she saw the blood on her fingertips, she had screamed.

Her
parents had responded instantly, demanding to know if she was all right.
Blushing, she had rushed to bolt the door to block their entrance. It was only
after several worried questions from her mother and even a threat from her
father that Mira had told them what had happened. Her father had half-snorted,
half-laughed before telling her mother, “all yours,” and retreated back to
their bedroom.

“Mira,
it happened to me, to Mona, Aunt Janey. Please let me come in and explain.
There is nothing to worry about.”

“I’m
going to bleed to death,” Mira replied.

“No
you’re not, sweetie. You have become a woman.”   

“Really?”

Mira’s
head swam with a million questions. She slowly reached up and pulled back the
bolt on the door. Her mother opened it and immediately threw her arms around
her in a tight embrace, whispering assurances in her ear. When she withdrew,
she held her daughter at arm’s length and looked at her. Mira saw her eyes fall
on the blood-stained garment on the floor.

“Oh
my poor baby,” she said.

Mira
immediately burst in to tears again and flung herself onto the bed crying into
her pillow. Her mother followed, stroking her hair.

“Mira,
look at me, it’s all right. Be a brave girl now and look at me.”

Mira
sat up still hugging the pillow, her eyes were puffy and red. Tears streamed
down her cheeks.

“You’ve
become a woman, Mira. What you have just experienced was your first—”

It
was then Mira’s mother’s turn to scream as she looked at the green stone that
had been underneath her daughter’s pillow.

*
* *

The
urge had taken him again. He felt it coming on and had done everything he could
to fight it. He could do nothing about it when it came, a feral, base instinct
to kill. To inflict as much pain as he possibly could. It completely consumed
him. He was trying to change. He had been doing so well to control it, but they
had deserved it.

Frendel
Cobal licked the blood as it ran down his face. It tasted sweet but metallic, a
taste that satisfied and repulsed him at the same time. All around him strewn
in various poses of agony were dead bodies. He had slaughtered an entire family
as if they were cattle. Not one of them had put up any decent sort of
resistance, the head of the household, if anything, had been the easiest to
dispatch.

He
now lay awkwardly draped over the upturned table he had been gorging at. His
fat belly exposed for all to see and the surprise of Frendel bursting into his
home still registered on his lifeless eyes. He still clutched a chicken breast
in his hand as if this was more important than protecting his family.

His
ugly wife had put up more of a struggle. Once he had sliced her husband, she
had leapt onto his back clawing at his face. Frendel had thrown himself against
the wall, ramming her skull into the stone and concussing her. He had then
dragged her over to the huge pot of stew she had been slaving over and put her
head into it, drowning her. She had kicked like a mule, but was powerless
against him.

He
looked at his hand; it was red raw where he had scalded himself holding her
head in the stew. Yet Frendel did not feel any of the pain that he should have.

At
his feet lay the two youngest children. They had appeared at the bottom of the
stairs, their faces pale with fear and shock. In a few quick strides he was
upon them, he felt nothing as consumed by the urge he had sliced their tiny
throats.

Now
he turned his attention to the one remaining member of the family, the
beautiful daughter. All thoughts of remorse left him as the urge overpowered
him again.

He
had discovered her, half-naked, trying to escape out of her bedroom window. In
disgust, he yanked her to the floor by her golden hair and slammed the window
shut.

 Frendel
had first caught sight of her serving behind the bar at the Red Dragon Inn. She
had poured a mug of ale for a local and leaned forward as she gave the stranger
his change to reveal a glimpse of an already large bust. The stranger told her
to keep the coins and in return received a coquettish wink. Frendel had to
leave the Inn there and then. The urge to have her was too strong and he was
worried he might have acted upon  impulse and risked taking on the whole inn.
Not that it would have worried him, he knew he was more than a match for a
group of drunken louts.

He
had retreated, determined to become a better man and not some animal. However,
she would not leave his thoughts. The memory of her body tormented him.

So
he studied her, learned where she lived and what her routine was, until it got
to the point where the desire had reached fever pitch and he had kicked in the
door to her house.

“Why
are you doing this?” she asked him.

He
watched her pathetic attempt to create some degree of distance between them,
whilst holding a blanket to her body to cover herself.

“I
have to have you,” he said as he unbuttoned his trousers.

“But
why kill my family?”

Frendel
frowned at this as if it was the most stupid question he had ever been asked.

“They
were in the way,” he said.

Somewhere
within his mind he vaguely heard a voice pleading with him to stop. It was
telling him that what he was doing was wrong and that he had changed. The urge
silenced the voice. He pulled himself free, showing himself to her as he
stroked his member.

“Oh
three moons! Please don’t do this,” she said, her eyes widening in despair.

He
grinned and let his trousers fall to his ankles. He stopped as they made a thud
on the floor and watched as a yellow stone rolled out of one of the pockets.
Frendel frowned and bent to pick it up. The girl took advantage of his
hesitation and ran screaming hysterically from the house.

Just
like that, the urge left him again. He fell to his knees mortified that he had
done it again after being so good for so long. He looked at the stone.
At
last I am being punished,
he thought
, I deserve it.

He
was still kneeling studying the stone when the city guards came and arrested
him.

*
* *

Jensen
found Brody sitting on the bridge located just outside Longcombe. He sat with
his legs dangling over the ledge, chin resting on one of the support beams.

The
river Mistdrop underneath him was the only source of water for the town and was
the sole reason for it being founded where it was. Although not especially
wide, the river was surprisingly deep. Even Jon Slow could not cross it without
being submerged completely.

“Hey,”
he said.

“Hey,”
Brody mumbled.

Jensen
sat down and unconsciously duplicated Brody’s pose. They both sat like that for
a while. Brody was plucking the seeds from a stalk of corn and dropping them
into the water below. They fell languidly before floating out of sight under
the wooden structure.

“I
heard,” Jensen said finally.

“You
heard,” Brody said.

“Blows
to be you.”

“Nah,
I still don’t have your bad looks,” Brody replied looking up and smiling
weakly. It quickly disappeared though.

The
two friends slipped once again into an easy silence and stared into the
Mistdrop. After a while Jensen put an arm round his friend’s shoulder.

“You
seen my father?” Brody asked. Jensen nodded.

“Him
and your ma are over at ours now,” Jensen replied before adding, “They look a
mess.”

It
was Brody’s turn to nod.

“I
couldn’t stand to see them looking like that. It is why I came out here. As
soon as I saw my dad start to weep I just had to get out of the house, you
know?”

“Yeah,”
was all Jensen could think of to say.

He
understood perfectly what Brody was talking about. Earlier his father had
struggled desperately to hold back tears. It had really affected him. He had
never seen his father cry before, or any other man for that matter. Except for
Gorman, but that was acceptable as he had witnessed his own brother decapitated
next to him on the battlefield.

Although
he was growing up and in many ways could physically challenge his father, the
sight of him openly displaying such emotions made him scared. Not that he would
ever admit that to anyone, not even to Brenna. The way he saw it, his father
showing such obvious weakness signalled that he was on his own. It made him
realise that his father was not strong enough to protect him anymore and he
would have to rely on himself.

Brody
brushed his hands against one another, crushing the rest of the stalk and
causing it to fall into the river. He stood up, flicking one of his long dark
curls out of his eyes. He helped Jensen to his feet.

“Do
you know who else received a stone?” Brody asked. Jensen chose his next words
carefully.

“I
haven’t heard of anyone else,” he replied, trying to answer as honestly as he
could.

“Don’t
suppose it matters much anyway. It does not change my situation. They are just
a number like me.”

“It
won’t be you, Brode.”

“Oh
yeah?” Brody said amused. “And why is that?”

Jensen
shrugged. He had no answer other than he didn’t want it to be him. It was so
unfair, out of the whole of Frindoth, his best friend and his sister had each been
selected as two of the twelve. Suddenly he remembered his father’s words.
Despite being sceptical at them, he had felt a glimmer of hope all the same. He
had a plan to protect Janna; maybe there was a way to save Brody too? He opened
his mouth to tell Brody this, but stopped as he also remembered his father’s
warning not to tell anyone.

Jensen
felt an overwhelming feeling of dread as the overall consequences of what his
father was proposing became clear. Before, when he thought of Frindoth
suffering in order to save his sister, it seemed an even trade. Now, as the
horror dawned on him that someone he loved would be killed as a result, the
plan seemed stupid and selfish.

There
is no way they could go through with it. He simply wouldn’t let it happen. His
sister should face the Ritual like everyone else. Like all those before had
done. He spun away from his friend and thumped his clenched fist against the
bridge. The pain that shot up his arm did little to quell his anger.

He
could no longer look his friend in the eye. How could his father put him in
this position? He must have known from the way Mertyn and Tyra had slunk up to
the house that one of them had found a stone, yet he still told him not to say
anything of their plan.

“Hey,
you would have thought that you were the one that got the stone not me. I don’t
want you acting all weepy on me, I came here to get away from that,” he said.

Jensen
composed himself. He would talk his father out of this folly later. If he
didn’t agree with him and still proceeded with his mad scheme, then he would
just expose him to the mayor.

“Hey,
come on, snap out of it.”

“I’m
not angry about that, I am just angry that my friend would stoop so low as to
use the stone as a sympathy vote in trying to win Annie Marquee’s affections,” Jensen
said.

“Hey,
a guy has got to try. Do you think it will work?”

“Nah,
with those looks you will need more help than that.”

This
time they both laughed.

 They
were too busy laughing to notice the wagon that passed through the trees in the
distance. Marybeth had returned.