Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (23 page)

When
Iskandar had led her and her father to the house that needed renovating,
Marybeth’s mouth fell open. They had taken a full morning to reach it, most of
which was spent descending into a valley. It was the oddest house she had ever
seen. She was not even sure it could be called a house.

It
was a wooden structure, built inside a cave. It was quite clever, she supposed.
If Iskandar had not led them directly to it, she would have missed it. Her
father had taken one look at the dwelling and told Iskandar in no uncertain
terms he would not allow his daughter to live there for the next couple of
months. Iskandar nodded as if he expected this answer and said he would make
arrangements for them to stay in the finest inn at Pranbury.

And
so a new chapter in her life began. Her father would get up at the crack of
dawn, travel to the cave and work until dusk. At first she did not mind, she
missed her father but knowing she would be staying in Pranbury for a while
allowed her to take an interest in the town and make new friends.

Her
days were filled with joining in with the town’s children as they played their
games (she got very good at ballhunt) or helping them do their chores. In
truth, she loved every minute of it. Despite the white skulls painted on the
townsfolk’s faces, she felt part of a community for the first time in her life.
In the evenings, her father would come home and it would be their time
together.

To
begin with, she did not notice the change in her father’s behaviour. He would
come home and talk about how the construction was going. He would always talk
about Iskandar. He would mutter to himself in between taking huge bites out of
a leg of lamb.

“Peculiar
man, that Iskandar, peculiar,” he would say. When Marybeth would question him
on just what he found strange about Iskandar, he would look at her surprised as
if he did not mean to speak out loud. He would then evade the question by
asking her about her day. Over the weeks that followed, Marybeth noticed the
references to Iskandar went from “peculiar” to “fascinating” and then to
“extremely knowledgeable.”

Her
father would never explain why he felt the way he did about Iskandar and became
more and more secretive. It reached the point where Marybeth began to resent
Iskandar, blaming the change in her father’s behaviour on him. On the brief
occasions she met with Iskandar, she could not see what all the fuss was about.
She perceived him to be a little too superior for her liking, always having an
amused expression on his face whenever she spoke, as if he knew far more than
her.

One
morning she had got up early with her father and asked if she could see the
house he had been working on. Her father had refused and said he wanted to show
it to her when it was completed.

“I
want to leave this place,” she blurted out as he had begun to walk away.

She
instantly regretted it. She did not like showing weak emotions in front of
anyone, least of all her father. Her father had been surprised by her outburst.
He had walked back and knelt before her, removing his hat as he did so. It
wasn’t until that moment, Marybeth realised how much he had aged in the months
they had spent in Pranbury.

His
long hair now had streaks of grey running through it. Round his eyes were signs
of permanent wrinkles and he had stubble that was at least a couple of days’
growth. Before Pranbury he was always clean shaven.

“You’ve
never said anything before. What’s brought this on?” he asked. Marybeth thought
he seemed concerned but was also aware of something else, annoyance maybe that
she was holding him up.

“I
don’t like or trust Iskandar,” she said. Her father frowned at this and then he
pursed his lips in anger.

“Iskandar
is a great man,” he had said through gritted teeth. “He has been nothing but
kind to us, don’t you go listening to the folk about town.”

“I
haven’t,” she said defensively and it was the truth. Iskandar was not really
mentioned in town. In fact, whenever she had brought him up in conversation the
topic was changed immediately. Her father seemed to believe her and told her he
would be finished on the house within a month and they would move on.

He
wasn’t finished within a month, though. They remained in Pranbury for several
more months. In fact, it was where her father was murdered.

*
* *

Rhact
ran through the trees jumping roots and logs that lay in his path. He had never
felt so ashamed. Earlier, he had been overcome by the magnitude of his actions.
As Jensen shouted at him, all he could think of was his best friend’s family
and the suffering they must be enduring. Every one of Jensen’s words had stung.
When Jensen had stormed off, Rhact had just sat there in self-pity.

He
would have liked to have said he had been rendered immobile, that he had been
temporarily so overcome with emotion he could not even lift his head, but that
was not the truth. The truth was he had been weak. For a selfish moment, he did
not want to be the head of the family. He wanted someone else to take control,
to tell him what to do next and reassure him that everything was going to work
out well.

What
happened in Lilyon made him physically ill. Why had he not considered his
actions? He had been so blinded by protecting his family that the consequences
of not going ahead with the Ritual had never fully registered. He had pushed it
out of his mind. It was not until he saw the chaos this morning that it had
really rammed home. As he ran, the faint cries of the dying still resounded in
his ears.

He
had been searching for Jensen for over an hour now. It was Janna that prompted
him into action. She had stormed off whilst he was comforting Kiana (or she was
comforting him, he was not sure which). He had demanded to know where his
daughter was going and she had sulkily replied that she was going to look for
her brother and that someone had to make an effort to keep the family together.

Her
brutal words snapped him back to reality. He had told Kiana and Janna to stay
together and not stray too far from the campsite as he set off in pursuit of
Jensen.

“JENSEN,”
he shouted, holding his hands up to his mouth to direct his call. He listened
for a response, but only the birds answered. He was a terrible father. He had
placed his family in vast danger and now one of them was alone.

Now
everywhere he turned, he was faced with trees. All looked much the same as the
one next to it. Rays of sunlight penetrated the foliage, illuminating the
forest floor. A swarm of gnats danced within its warm glow.

Rhact
began to panic. He was now unsure which direction Kiana and Janna were in. He
took a few deep breaths to calm himself.
Higher, I must get higher
. He
selected the tallest tree which looked most accessible and scrambled up it.

His
view from the treetop was disappointing. The tree was only marginally taller
than those adjacent to it. Through the branches he could see the forest stretch
out before him, a crumpled carpet of different shades of green. An occasional
break in the foliage marked a path, but the trees were too dense to make out
the forest floor. His gaze fell upon the smoke towering into the sky. For a
moment the guilt returned but he forced it out of his mind. He couldn’t afford
to succumb to its dark embrace. He had his son to find.

“JEEEEEENNNNNSSEEEEEEENNNNNNN,”
he bellowed. To his right a flock of sparrows took to the sky in a blur of
fluttering wings and screeches.

“For
someone that is supposed to be on the run, you have a unique way of not drawing
attention to yourself,” a female voice said.

He
recognized the witch’s voice and descended the tree amidst a flurry of leaves
and broken branches, landing in a heap at the base of the trunk. She stood with
her green cloak pulled back revealing her blond hair; her hand held the reins
to a black horse. A familiar stirring bubbled in his stomach at the sight of
her beauty.

“Elegant,”
she remarked smiling. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck
stand on end. In anger, he grabbed his sword and charged towards her.

“Don’t
be such a fool,” she said, extending a palm upwards. The sword fell harmless
from his grasp as his arm went floppy. He looked at his weapon in disbelief.
His hand had just lost its grip on the hilt against his will. For a moment he
clenched and unclenched his fist to ensure it still operated as normal. His
anger soon returned, however.

“You
bitch, you’ve destroyed my family and brought about the end of Frindoth,” he
said.

“I
have done nothing of the sort,” she replied, tying the reins of the horse
around the tree. She rounded on him and pointed at his face. “It was you who
decided not to go to the Ritual.”

“With
your prompting!”

“I
may have led you in that direction, yes,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because
it was the right thing to do.”

“The
right thing to do? Have you not seen the smoke that has engulfed the White
City? Everyone in it might have perished,” he said.

He
was sure now he had done the wrong thing by not taking Janna to the Ritual, but
at least he had some rationalisation behind his decision. He could not work out
the motivations of this heartless woman that stood before him, however.

The
witch sighed. She looked like a mother about to describe her reasoning to a
child. He hated her for that look, for the way he had allowed himself to be
manipulated by her. She reached inside her cloak and pulled out what looked to
be a scroll and held it up so he could see.

“Because
of what is written on here,” she said waving the parchment in front of his
face, “I have reason to believe the Gloom can be defeated and years upon years
of sacrifice and torment can be brought to a close. Of course I am aware of
what has happened in Lilyon and despite what you may think of me, I am not
unmoved by all of those deaths, but as far as I am concerned, the end justify
the means.”

“How
can you say that? A whole city might have perished because of our actions, as
opposed to one death every twelve years,” Rhact said. Despite her words, Rhact
could not get over how nonchalant she was. Her face portrayed no emotion whatsoever.

“And
how many more dozen years would this continue for? More importantly, supposing
the death this year would have been your daughter. Would you have wished that I
had done nothing then?” she said.

Rhact
had nothing to say to that. She was correct. Despite how difficult it was to
get his head round all of the murders that had taken place this morning, if the
Gloom was to be stopped, it had to start somewhere. He at least could see the
logic from that point of view.

He
decided whether he agreed with her or not was not important. The most important
thing was finding his son and reuniting his family.

“I
need to find my Jensen. Do you have any idea where he is?”

“He
is heading east. I noticed a herd of deer running from something that had
disturbed them but that was an hour ago. Your wife and daughter are also out by
the main road. If you head east you will come across them,” she said and then
noticing Rhact’s hesitation, pointed to her left, “That way.”

“You
will need this,” she said handing him a bandage. “Any day now, your daughter’s
hand will change colour to match that of her stone. It is to mark her as a
traitor, that she did not complete her duty to Frindoth.”

Rhact
was too tired to question the witch and ended up muttering his appreciation and
gathering the rest of his stuff.

“I
will need that stone of hers soon. I will come and collect it, when I do, I do
not expect to meet any resistance,” she said.

Rhact
ignored the statement, but asked her another question that had been bothering
him.

“You
said that you were not unmoved by what happened this morning. I am not sure I
believe you. Your friends in the Order, your leader, they could be dead too,
but you show no emotion whatsoever,” he said. The vehemence in her response
surprised him.

“I
do not regard the man who killed my father a friend.”

With
that, she departed, leaving Rhact staring after her.

The
punch was a good one. Jacquard got the weight of his whole body behind the blow
and made a solid, clean connection. The hit stung his knuckles, forcing him to
shake away the pain afterwards. Iskandar lay sprawled out on the floor, blood
trickling from his nostrils.

Around
him, Jacquard’s knights stood poised ready to protect their king. Longshaw had
positioned himself between his king and Mondorlous in case he reacted to the
violence; however, the giant of a man merely looked bored by the scene
unfolding in front of him.

“You
deceitful bastard,” the king said. “I trusted you to conduct the Ritual and you
end up killing innocent people and trying to murder my son.”

After
the congestion had cleared from the market square, Jacquard retreated back to
the palace hall and indicated for Iskandar to follow him. Iskandar entered a
long time after by which time reports were flooding in stating the Gloom had
left the city and was wreaking destruction on the neighbouring villages. There
was no news on Althalos. The prince had been lost amongst the crowd and
skirmishes and Jacquard had ordered Jefferson to find word on his son.

At least the man has the decency to look guilty,
Jacquard thought as Iskandar got himself shakily to his feet and
made a show of straightening his robe. He looked as if he was a father dealing
with a difficult son and was giving him the benefit of the doubt for his
actions.

“Are
you fini—” he began to say, before Jacquard hit him again. This time he did not
fall, but staggered back a few steps. When he regained his balance, he wiped
his nose with the back of his hand, staring at the blood.

“As
the king, I will do the talking,” Jacquard said.

Jacquard
fumed, never before had he felt so humiliated. He trusted Iskandar with the
most important part of his role as a king and the man had betrayed him.

The king
noticed a few of his knights look at each other in surprise. No one treated
Iskandar this way. King or no king, Iskandar was a powerful man for Jacquard to
be manhandling. Mondorlous remained unmoved by Jacquard’s actions. If anything
he was amused, as Jacquard swore he saw his mouth twitch at the corners.

This
time Iskandar gathered himself more purposefully, drawing himself up to his
full height. It was clear he wouldn’t tolerate being struck again.

“May
I speak with you alone, my lord?” he asked.

“Why?
So you can stab me in the back with no witnesses?” Jacquard replied.

It
was a childish comment and unfair. He knew he had nothing to fear from
Iskandar. The leader of the Order made no response and held Jacquard’s gaze.
Finally, Jacquard gave the command for them to be alone, his eyes never leaving
Iskandar as his knights departed. Mondorlous was the last to leave and only
after Iskandar motioned for him to do so.

For
a moment neither the leader of Frindoth nor of the Order spoke. Jacquard looked
at Iskandar expectantly.

“Once
again, I must apologise to you, my king. It was not my intention to deceive you
but I had no choice,” Iskandar said.

“I
don’t understand. You killed those poor people; you gave the order to kill my
son. I could see you hanged for such treachery.”

Iskandar
nodded and hung his head again.

“When
Marybeth did not show, I feared the worse. I do not know what has happened to
her, but her failure to ensure the final three stoneholders attended meant our
longstanding agreement with the Gloom was jeopardised. There was no telling
what the creature might do, but I knew it would be a grave situation,” Iskandar
said.

“A
grave situation!” Jacquard interrupted, “Have you seen the state of the city
out there? Have you seen the bodies that line the streets?” Iskandar waited
patiently for Jacquard to finish before continuing.

“As
I was saying, I knew the consequences would be brutal. There are only vague
records in the archives of all twelve stoneholders not being present at the
Ritual. One thing is clear, after that incident, the population of Frindoth
decreased dramatically. The ancient text also states what must be done should
such a situation occur.” Iskandar held a hand up to stop Jacquard from
interrupting again. “The text states that the only way to appease the Gloom is
for all twelve of the stoneholders to be sacrificed. Only then would the Gloom
return to its realm.

I
thought there was a chance Vashna might have killed Marybeth and the three
absent stoneholders in order to cause you strife, so if I quickly dispatched
the other nine stoneholders, including your son, then maybe I would prevent the
destruction that you see outside the window.”

For
a moment Jacquard was too stunned to respond. A million questions were swimming
around his mind. How could these texts exist without his knowledge? Why had he
not been told everything to do with the Ritual? Could Vashna really be
responsible for this?

He
walked towards the giant window that looked over the main part of the city.
Pockets of smoke still rose from different sections, but the worst of it had
been quelled.

“It
would make no sense for Vashna to have evoked the Gloom’s wrath. He has designs
on my throne, why would he want it after the Gloom has destroyed the kingdom?”
Jacquard said, thinking aloud.

“Unless
he knew how to defeat the Gloom and wanted to weaken Lilyon first?” Iskandar
said.

Jacquard
whirled round and faced Iskandar. The idea had never occurred to him but now it
seemed so obvious. Still, the king struggled to reason that the warlord who had
shared his council would be so malicious just to obtain the throne.

“How
could Vashna have found a way to defeat the Gloom? I have been searching my
whole life for such a thing. Even if he has, surely Vashna has not lost his
mind and sanctioned the deaths of thousands of innocents?” Jacquard said.
Iskandar shrugged.

“Either
way, all twelve stoneholders needed to be killed. I couldn’t risk you not
agreeing to your son’s death,” Iskandar said.

The
words wounded Jacquard. He thought Iskandar would be the last person to call
his integrity into question, to doubt whether he would put his family before
the whole kingdom.

“You
think I wouldn’t have been able to choose between my family and the kingdom?”

“I
was relieving you of the choice,” he said.

Jacquard
wanted to be angry but knew he would never have been able to sacrifice his son.
He recalled the turmoil he felt at the possibility his son might have been
chosen. To actually sentence his son to death would have taken a coldness he
didn’t think he possessed.

“The
choice on all of their lives should have been mine to make as king,” he said.

“I
never said my actions were correct. I acted …” here Iskandar paused in search
for the most appropriate word, “… rashly,” he said at last.

Jacquard
massaged his eyes; he suddenly felt very tired. There was too much to consider,
too much to deal with: the Gloom must be dealt with, which meant the remaining stoneholders
including his son needed to be hunted down and killed; Vashna’s rebellion had
to be opposed; Lilyon had to be repaired, but before that the damage had to be
actually assessed and after all this was completed, he would have to work out a
way to deal with the Order for deceiving him. They had grown too powerful and
held too many secrets.

Below
him the brilliant white walls of the city were already stained grey from the
decay of the smoke. The golden tower on the southeast side that had been
glistening in the sun this morning now had a black smear on one side. From the
other side of the glass the room was silent, but if he was to step outside, he
would still hear the wails of those mourning the dead. No doubt already there
would be those seeking advantage of the misfortune of others.

Too many lives were lost today,
he
thought as he looked out over his city.
And the deaths are only just
beginning
.

*
* *

Cody
Ramsay crouched behind the overturned cart in lower Lilyon. The chaos around
him was mesmerising. He had never seen so much panic and confusion on people’s
faces. He could not understand it. The Gloom had exited the city well over an
hour ago. For now at least the danger had abated.

Yet
still the streets teemed with citizens running to and fro, some had grabbed
their belongings and were deserting the White City, whilst others tried to
organise themselves into groups helping to put out the fires.
How did the
fires even start?
The power of the Gloom had been immense, flinging people
two or three at a time through the air, but at no point had he seen it cause a
fire.

He
supposed it only took someone to be hurled against a table and a lantern to
topple for a fire to catch, but the sheer volume of the flames that consumed
the city was overwhelming.

An
onlooker tried to separate two men brawling on the floor but became entangled
in the dispute himself. Cody jumped as a cask of wine flew off a wagon and
shattered on the floor. Red liquid spread across the cobblestones. Several
people mistook it for bloodshed and screamed.

It
took Cody a short while to realise that someone was tugging on his shirt. He
turned to see a hysterical woman babbling at him. Tears flowed down her face as
she pointed frantically at the crowd.

“I
don’t understand what you are trying to say,” he said. The woman continued to
speak incoherently.

“Slow
down, lady,” he said patiently. When she did not, he shook her. The woman quietened,
too stunned to say anything. “What are you trying to tell me?” he said,
offering no apology.

“My
daughter, I’ve lost her, was with me just a moment ago,” she said amongst sobs.
Cody scanned the crowd. At first he couldn’t see anything through the myriad of
legs and bodies, but then he saw a little girl apart from everyone else.

She
was no more than four summers and was standing on top of a pile of crates, and around
her a fire was blazing. She was crying for her mother, her eyes squeezed shut
and her hands straight down by her sides. One or two helpful people were
attempting to rescue her.

“Is
that her?” Cody said, pointing towards the girl.

The
woman screamed and ran towards the girl, pushing people aside that blocked her
path. By the time she had reached her, though, the flames were too high and
were already burning the outer crates.

“We
must go!” he turned to see one of his fellow escapees indicating a break in the
crowd where they could slot in. His name was Frendel or something; he was the
one that had been outspoken about the black man on the gallows. Cody did not
care for him and was tempted to end his miserable life, but when it came to
escaping you could not choose your allies. The prince and the former member of
the Order were concealed in the shadow of a shop canopy.

Cody
wasn’t entirely sure what had happened on the gallows. He was preparing himself
for death when he heard Jaegal of the Order muttering some sort of incantation
under his breath. The next thing he knew, the wooden support beam snapped and
the gallows collapsed amongst a great deal of smoke.

Cody
felt himself falling briefly until his feet found purchase on the floor. Jaegal
had freed him from his bonds and told him no one deserved to die for doing the
honourable thing. As soon as his hands were free, he wasted little time in
freeing himself from the noose and then freeing the prince next to him.
Althalos had protested at first, but he had dragged the foolish boy along with
him. He admired the boy’s loyalty to the throne, but there was no point when
that loyalty was going to be rewarded with death.

The
four of them had taken advantage of the distraction the smoke caused and fled
the market square. Since then, they had been covering each other as they stuck
to the shadows and made their way to the lower part of the city.

They
soon learned people were far more concerned about the Gloom to pay any
attention to them, but that had not stopped them being cautious.

“We
can’t go,” he said and then indicated to the girl. “We have to save her.”

“I’m
not used to playing the hero,” Frendel said.

“Well
now’s your chance.”

The
prince joined them and now he looked back at Jaegal.

“You
coming?” he asked.

Jaegal
seemed to consider his options. He looked at the screaming girl and then back
towards the crowd rushing towards the city gate. He then sneered at Cody and
his companions.

“I
didn’t free us all so we could get sentimental and be recaptured. If it is a
choice between her and me, I choose me,” he said, before turning and blending
into the crowd.

“So
much for the Order protecting us,” Frendel said.

“I’m
learning that the Order don’t do a lot of what they say they do,” Cody said,
rushing towards the girl.

The
heat of the fire struck Cody’s face before he got anywhere near the girl. By
now, several more people had joined the fight and were attempting to beat the
flames down with brooms and blankets. From what Cody could see, this only
fanned the flames towards the girl. The mother had lost hope of trying to make
it through the flames and screamed hysterically, her face darkened by soot.