Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (20 page)

“Bring
her outside,” Master Worrell barked.

Anastas
found herself being dragged away from her friend’s body. She struggled to fight
the bodyguards but it was a futile effort, they were far too strong. Their
hands held her like iron manacles. She had been overcome by a sense of
hopelessness. In a matter of minutes, her world had come crashing down around
her.

She
was led outside sobbing, demanding to know if Ghorum was still alive. It was
then she saw Mikel dismounting from Dusk and running towards her.

“What
is the meaning of this? Unhand her at once!” he shouted.

The
two bodyguards sought their master’s approval before complying. She ran into
his arms and burrowed her face in his armour. She had never felt so ashamed.
Ashamed at how she must have looked to him on the day he had come to collect
her. A sobbing, dishevelled maid. Ashamed she had nothing to offer him other
than her love and, most of all, ashamed that fate had decreed she might be
sacrificed before their love could truly blossom. She had buried her head in
his chest and never wanted to look up at the cruel world again.

“I’m
afraid your true love has received some very disconcerting news,” Master
Worrell said.

She
heard the stone land with a thud at the Cadaver Knight’s feet. She felt Mikel
tense in her arms and heard the shriek of metal as he began to draw his sword.
She steadied his hand.

“Please,
just take me away from here,” she said. For an awful moment she thought he was
going to ignore her; she could feel him begin to shake in anger. “Please,” she
said again.

She
looked at her lover and was shocked by the intensity she saw in his eyes. There
was a hardness there that sent a chill down her spine. After a while, Mikel
obliged and sheathed his sword but not before pointing his finger at Master
Worrell and his two bodyguards and vowing that he would return. Anastas had
little doubt he would.

Fourteen
days later, they approached the white walls where her fate would be determined.
Mikel was a different knight from the one she remembered riding on Dusk with.
He was not the carefree man she had been courting. He no longer promised her
the world nor aimed to make her laugh at every opportunity. Now he had an
almost invidious manner to him.

The
good humour was gone, replaced with a duty to the realm to take her to Lilyon.
He was firmly in the mindset of a knight and not of her lover. He had taken her
to his home in Rivervale, but as soon as they arrived, he made his excuses to
leave. When he did return, she tried to make light of her situation, dreamily
saying she was not worried because her knight would protect her. He had smiled
at her, but the smile did not reach his eyes. She quickly realised that he was
not the knight she thought he was.

Grayhem,
his squire whom she had only met on a couple of previous occasions, had picked
up on his mood and tried to engage Anastas in menial conversation, but she was
not interested in tedious talk. It was her knight she wanted.

By
midday, the White City could be seen on the horizon. The city Mikel had talked
so excitedly about only weeks before, now held none of the mystique and
splendour she imagined. Instead it symbolised a prison, another place where she
would be taken and held against her wishes.

As
they rode closer, Anastas withdrew into herself and dreamed of a knight that
might come and rescue her. 

*
* *

The
last five days had been like old times for Rhact and Mertyn. The incident with
the bandits had brought back all the memories of when they had travelled
together.

The
two families had been subdued immediately after escaping the bandits, but it
had not been long before relief at their escape manifested in the form of
laughter. They had mocked the appearance of the bandits, Brody in particular
had mastered an excellent impression of the leader’s high-pitched voice which
so far had not failed to make them all laugh.

Rhact
and Mertyn had taken the opportunity to regale their families with all of the
stories of their youth. Some they had heard before and others for the first
time, but all were warmly received.

Rhact
felt a sense of pride in how far he and Mertyn had come since those days. Here
they both were, with their own families sharing the adventure of their youth.
At any other time, Rhact would have been a happy man. However, an ominous
shadow loomed over his head. As much as Rhact tried to pretend all was well, he
could not ignore the fact he was about to betray his best friend by lying to
him.

If
fate was kind, they would meet each other again, but Rhact knew in his heart
that things would never be the same. He wondered if he would ever return to
Longcombe and what would happen to his shop. Years of building up his trade and
one incident had simply unravelled it all in the blink of an eye.

Watching
his family these last few days, he realised how much he loved them. Jensen’s
friendship with Brody was exactly like his was with Mertyn. He even sensed a
connection between Brenna and his son he had not noticed before. His wife
seemed to cherish every conversation she had with Kiana and he would never have
known from how Janna was behaving that she had received a stone. She was her
usual inquisitive self, delighting in the stories and demanding no detail be
left out.

If
he looked close enough, though, masked underneath their plastered smiles, the
same shadow was written on all their faces. He was proud that none of his
family had revealed the truth. Maybe like him, they knew it was the right thing
to do. He was sure of that now. Certainly not morally, but he had a gut feeling
they had to do this. It was the same feeling he had just before the witch
arrived, something that he could not put his finger on. It was a persistent,
soothing voice in the back of his mind that convinced him to betray his friend.
Instinctively he had known to listen to the voice before and now he knew he had
to obey it again.

Since
the incident with the bandits, the journey had been easy going. They had been using
one of the main roads that led out of Brimsgrove but had taken their time. They
had only passed into Rivervale yesterday morning. Rivervale was not too
different from their home territory. It was slightly more populated and there
were always other travellers on the road. Most were heading in the same
direction.

Unlike
Brimsgrove, where the green fields stretched out as far as you could see,
Rivervale had more buildings to break up the greenery. These buildings had
tiled roofs rather than the flat tops of Longcombe.
The
shrubbery along the roadside appeared wilted and damaged from the many
trampling feet passing this way.

 In
Rivervale it was not possible to just stand still and appreciate the silence as
Rhact liked doing back home. There was always some sort of noise, peasants
toiling in the fields or foremen shouting orders. Even on the odd occasion when
there were no other people in sight, the wildlife seemed louder.

They
had been travelling most of the morning when they came across the rickety old sign
post at the junction in the road. It pointed in two opposite directions, to
Lilyon the White City and the other to Boscalt, a small but friendly town
nearby. Rhact had been there a few times when his business had been slow, in an
attempt to get rid of his stock. The sign had fallen slightly so the arrow
directing travellers to Lilyon actually pointed to the ground.

Lilyon
was less than three days journey from this point. He made eye contact with Kiana
who nodded quickly to indicate she knew what he was thinking. The mood had not
been as jovial this morning, Jensen was noticeably laconic and a couple of
times had snapped at Rhact.

“This
is as far as we are going to go, my friend,” Rhact said.

The
others all looked up sharply, surprised by his statement. Jensen scowled at his
father, whilst Janna merely looked down, suddenly finding interest in a nail
that was jutting up from the wagon floor.

“Oh,”
was all Mertyn could say.

Rhact
got down from his seat and indicated Mertyn should walk with him.

When
they were out of earshot from the others, Rhact repeated the statement to his
friend.

“I
think Brody needs to be with his immediate family in Lilyon, my friend,” Rhact
said weakly.

“He
thinks you are his immediate family,” Mertyn said.

“I
know, but I have to think of my own children too. I’m sure you’ve noticed
Jensen’s dark mood this morning.”

The
two of them looked back towards their families who were all sitting silently on
the wagons looking back at them. Jensen had a look of hatred in his eyes that
took Rhact aback. This explanation seemed to convince Mertyn.

“I
guess if I were in your position, I would not want my family to see their
friend face that … thing.”

Mertyn
fought back tears. Rhact knew his friend was picturing Brody being devoured by
the Gloom. It was an image that Rhact had tried to push from his mind.

“Don’t
let them see you weep,” Rhact said. Mertyn nodded, but even as he did, tears
streamed down his face. “You know if it was just me here now, I would go with
you all the way, don’t you?” It was the truth but it felt like such an awful
lie.

“I
know you would,” Mertyn said and then hugged Rhact. When they drew apart,
Mertyn held out his hand. Inside were two silver coins. “You were right that
night in the Green Stag. Mertyn Brooker always pays up on his bets.”

Rhact’s
stomach lurched. He took the money but for a moment could not speak.

“You
be brave for your family, they need you now,” he finally said.

“As
do yours. You just make sure the welcome home party is the best Longcombe has
ever seen,” Mertyn said although there was no humour in his tone. The comment
sent chills through Rhact’s heart. For a horrible moment he thought he was
going to be sick.

“May
the three moons shine upon you, my friend,” Rhact managed to say.

When
the two friends returned to their wagons, the others had already started saying
their good-byes. To the astonishment of the others, Jensen and Brenna kissed
passionately. There was an awkward moment where everyone just stood staring
with stupid grins on their faces, before Rhact broke the spell by hugging Tyra
and Brenna, urging them to be strong.

Rhact
turned to Brody and embraced him. He considered the boy his second son. The
magnitude of what Rhact was doing suddenly hit him. His knees went weak and
Brody had to support him.

“We’re
so proud of you, Brode. You are such an incredibly brave man. You make us all
proud.”

“You’ve
been like a father to me. If my sacrifice protects your family, then it is my
honour to do it.”

From
over Brody’s shoulder Rhact could see Jensen staring at him in disgust.

It
was a glorious day. The sun beat down relentlessly on the city square. There
was a light breeze, which did little to lower the temperature but was enough to
cause the nooses hanging from the gallows to sway back and forth. In the middle
of Lilyon’s city square, the bronze statue erected by Gregorian shone
brilliantly. It depicted a man in a supplicant pose, on one bended knee,
holding an outstretched hand to the Ritual waterfall. From his palm spouted a
fountain of water that fell into a small pool at the figure’s base. Set in the
stone wall surrounding the fountain were twelve jewels, representing the twelve
stones of the Ritual.

These
jewels, however, were difficult to see due to the mass of people congregating
in the square. The newly constructed stand was an out and out success, packed
full of the wealthiest families Frindoth had to offer.

From
first light, merchants had moved their stalls from the slums and assembled them
in the square in order to take advantage of the throng of visitors to Lilyon.
Anything from roasted turkey legs to shade handles were being sold at inflated
prices. The aroma of cooked food and sweat mixed together spread throughout the
city.

Three
stone buildings surrounded the square. The only access came from the four paths
leading in from the corners. The new stand was positioned on the south side in
front of the city library. The library was the only building in Frindoth where
people could come and read the poems and songs passed down by the famous bards.

To
the east stood the courthouse where people found guilty were hanged outside or
worse (depending on your point of view) sent down to the Pit. The gallows
haunted the north of the square. There was no building here, just a sheer drop
of one hundred feet down to the bottom part of the city. The idea was that all
could see what happened to those that committed crimes and would thus be
deterred.

On
the opposite side was the Tri-moon temple, the most impressive building in
Lilyon apart from the palace itself. It was a grand rectangular building with
only one wall. The temple’s roof was held up by marble pillars, each
intricately decorated by mosaic tiles forming various patterns of the stars.
Inside were rows of stone benches all facing the only wall, on which a fabulous
painting depicted the land of Frindoth and its moons.

Scattered
throughout, were grandiose statues representing various warlords of the past.
The most spectacular feature of the temple, however, was the gold-plated pointed
roof. There were even golden gargoyles peering menacingly over the edge of the
roof.

It
was in this temple the people could worship the three moons of Frindoth. Not
that many did. People found it hard to worship an inanimate object. There was a
movement in recent years to assign figures to the moons. Several fanatics
claimed they had discovered scrolls that proved the moons all represented
ancient gods. They claimed: the blue moon represented Birumiar the wise; the
green moon signified Kanos the brave; and the red moon belonged to Staogon the
bloodthirsty god.

The
fanatics had grown in number in recent years and now referred to themselves as
the Lunar children. They believed the gods would return to Frindoth and restore
balance to the realm. The Gloom was part of this purge and they revered the
creature. They roamed the land dressed in dark blue cloaks preaching to anyone
that would listen. They fiercely opposed the idea of the Ritual, believing the
Gloom should not be appeased but allowed to kill freely. Needless to say, they
were strictly denied entrance to Lilyon today.

Jacquard
sat on a makeshift throne at the top of the steps that led up to the temple.
Beside him sat Jefferson and to his right sat Althalos. Iskandar and Mondorlous
(another individual that made the king uncomfortable) stood behind him.
Jacquard hated the pomp and ceremony that was afforded him on such occasions.
It was one of the worst things about being king.

He
thought the king should not have prime seats to witness a member of his realm being
savagely killed. Jefferson, however, argued that because a member of his realm
was sacrificing themselves, it was precisely why the king should be present. As
usual, Jefferson was right.

Even
though the Ritual never started until the sun was at its highest, the crowd
below was growing impatient and began to clap slowly. Jacquard was disgusted at
the mob he saw below him.

“It
is supposed to be a Ritual, not a bloody festival,” he growled. He had been
short tempered all morning, barking at anyone that interrupted his time alone
with Althalos. His son had not taken his eyes off the gallows since they sat
down. It was the first sign since finding out about the stone that he was
nervous.

Jacquard
had been amazed how his son had calmly gone about his business as if it was
just another day, wolfing down his breakfast and then going out to the practice
yard as was his usual routine. In contrast, Jacquard had barely touched his
food and yelled at the maid when she had asked if there was anything wrong with
it.

“It
only happens once every twelve years, my lord. At the very least it is a
spectacle,” Jefferson said.

“Then
they should watch it and not make an event of it then,” he retorted. “I thought
I told you to get a pissing chair. You’re too old to be standing.”

Jefferson
bowed and signalled for a guard to bring him a chair, which for some reason
irritated Jacquard further. The king knew he was being unreasonable, he hardly
ever cursed, yet he had been doing it all morning. What did people expect? It
was his son that might be sacrificed.
They expect you to be their king
.

A
heated discussion disturbed his thoughts. He turned to see Iskandar and Mondorlous
conversing in harsh whispers.

“What
is it?” he demanded. Iskandar looked at Jacquard like a guilty child that had
been caught stealing a pie.

“We
haven’t heard from Marybeth, my lord,” he said.

“What
do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” Jefferson said, jumping to his feet
and sending the newly placed chair toppling. Jacquard had wondered where the
fourth member of the Order was, but had thought nothing of it as his mind has
been on Althalos. He pictured the young girl now, a pretty lady who had always
appeared coy around him. She seemed pleasant enough, but there was something
distrustful about her.

“I
mean, we haven’t heard from her,” said Iskandar. Now that he was addressing
everyone he seemed perfectly in control again, as if it was only a minor problem.

“If
the twelve don’t show—” Jefferson began.

“I
know the ramifications!” Iskandar said, drawing himself up to full height.

Jacquard
was surprised at the shiver of fear that ran up his spine. A few of the crowd
below turned to look at the commotion. Sensing that he was now the focus of
unwanted attention, he lowered his voice.

“We
will proceed as planned,” Iskandar said.

“But—”Jefferson
protested.

“We
will proceed as planned, Jefferson,” the leader of the Order said firmly and
strode off toward the gallows, Mondorlous following like an obedient dog.

When
they were out of earshot, Jefferson addressed his king.

“Sire,
I do not like this. If the twelve are not present, then there is no telling
what the Gloom will do,” Jefferson said.

“And
what would you have me do about it at this late stage?” Jacquard said.“It is
out of our hands now.”

Jacquard
stared at his friend who had a look of disbelief on his face. Jefferson finally
broke eye contact and picked up his chair, grumbling to himself. Again,
Jacquard chastised himself for being so harsh.

What am I supposed to do, though? My entire reign and I have been
powerless against this poxy Ritual. If my legacy is to be the king that did not
conduct the Ritual properly, so be it.
He called
Longshaw over to him. The small knight came immediately and knelt before
Jacquard, his long dark hair falling across his face.

“We
may have a problem with the Gloom. Make sure your men are ready for every
eventuality,” he said. Longshaw’s head jerked up as a look of terror spread
across his face. Finally he nodded and walked away. Jacquard glanced at
Jefferson, who gave a satisfied nod at his command.

*
* *

The
deafening sounds of trumpets filled the air to signal the Ritual was about to start.
Iskandar made his way through the crowd and climbed the steps to the gallows,
Mondorlous at his side. In his hands he held a black bag made out of cloth. He
signalled for the crowd to hush even though they were already silent, watching
his every move. For many of the spectators, this was their first glimpse of the
mysterious and powerful Order as well. The crowd had probably only heard of
their deeds and were eager to witness a demonstration of the magic associated
with them.

Satisfied
he held everyone’s attention, Iskandar addressed the crowd.

“Citizens
of Frindoth, the Gloom is an entity the likes of which we have never seen.
Nothing else on Frindoth comes close to being similar to this destructive
beast. If there is a way to harm it, then we or our ancestors have never
discovered it.

“For
centuries we have gathered at this same spot and offered a sacrifice to the
Gloom in an effort to appease its thirst for blood. For as long as the scrolls
record, this has been our way. By doing so, we have learnt to coexist somewhat
peacefully with this devastating creature. Whilst a loss of a life should never
be deemed acceptable, the alternative, I assure you, is far worse.”

Iskandar
paused. He surveyed the crowd before him as if daring any of them to oppose what
he was saying. No one spoke, the screeches from a couple of crows perched on
the stand’s roof and the clucking of a few hens held in cages on one of the
market stalls stood out over the silent crowd. Satisfied, he continued.

“Today,
the time has come again to offer our sacrifice. As always, twelve people have
been selected by the stones. In a few moments I will collect the stones from those
people and toss them off of the palace tower into the Ritual waterfall. Whose
ever stone lands first in the fountain will be sacrificed.

“They
will be doing Frindoth a huge service and their courage will long be
remembered. May their end be swift and may they die with dignity.”

A
ripple of applause swarmed over the crowd. Jacquard clucked his tongue in
disgust. He doubted if many of the people in the crowd could even remember the
name of the girl that was sacrificed a dozen years ago. She was an only child
called Amber. He had visited her parents once a year to express his gratitude
at her bravery. He had maintained this practice for six years, until he had
learnt that both parents had killed themselves. Six years it had taken them to
realise they could not cope without their daughter.

He
noticed several people crossed their arms and placed their hands on the
opposite shoulder in an effort to ward off the Gloom. Others pointed to the
sky. He scoffed at the acts. He did not know where they originated, but he felt
certain that should the Gloom choose to attack them, the hand motions would
offer no protection.

Whilst
Iskandar spoke, Althalos took his father’s hand and squeezed it. His son was
fixated on Iskandar, all the colour having drained out of the boy’s face.
Jacquard was not even sure Althalos realised he had performed the intimate
gesture and decided not to say anything.

“I
couldn’t have asked for a better father,” Althalos said.

“Nor
I, a better son,” Jacquard replied. “I am proud of you, as would your mother
have been.”

Tears
filled his son’s eyes as he hastily turned his attention back to Iskandar. The
leader of the Order now handed the bag to Mondorlous and motioned for him to
stand at the top of the gallows’ steps.

Jacquard
saw that the tattooed Delmut, the unsavoury warden of the Pit, had now joined
Iskandar on the gallows. His painted face caused some of the women in the crowd
to turn away in repulsion. Delmut had a hideous grin on his face, as if he had
been looking forward to this day for ages.

“The
time has come,” Iskandar shouted. “Would the stoneholders come forward and
place their stones in the bag.”

At
first no one moved, everyone in the crowd turned and looked to the people
around them, expecting them to make their way to the gallows. Finally, a woman
cried out in despair.

“No,
no, not yet, baby, not yet, please don’t go. You can’t leave us just yet.”

Jacquard
strained to see who was talking, but it soon became obvious as the crowd parted
forming a circle around the woman and her family. She was holding on to her
son’s arm in an effort to stop him walking towards the gallows. A man who Jacquard
assumed to be her husband was trying to prise open her grip from their son’s
arm. The boy’s sister stood next to them sobbing.

Finally,
two guards waded through the crowd to help the father free his son, who seemed
embarrassed by the scene and let himself be escorted up to the gallows. The
woman’s screams made Jacquard’s stomach churn. Even though his own son was
about to make the same short walk, he felt the pain of the other family.