Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (24 page)

Cody
searched for a way to get to the girl. His face stung as soon as he got within
a couple of feet of the flames. The prince and Frendel searched for points of
the inferno where the flames were at their lowest. They were not having any luck.
A man rushed past him and hurled water from a bucket onto the flames, but it
had little to no effect.

The
crates immediately surrounding the small girl had now caught alight. She
screamed even louder, her eyes were crazed as she watched the flames climb
higher. Cody felt his facial hair burning.

“Stop.
Stop, wait.” Cody saw it was Frendel that was shouting. He was preventing two
men from emptying their buckets onto the fire, much to their fury. “We must
target one area of the fire, so one of us can get through. Line up the buckets
in front of me.”

The
men fell into place quickly and began stockpiling the buckets. When there were
five buckets, Frendel asked for the prince’s robe. Cody followed Frendel’s
lead.

“Are
you sure about this?” Cody asked Frendel as he folded the robe. Frendel ripped
a strip off the robe and soaked it in one of the buckets.

“About
an hour ago I was given a second chance in life. A chance I definitely didn’t
deserve. Thought I might as well start making amends,” Frendel said and then
turned to the prince, “I don’t think you’ll be getting this back in the same
condition, your highness,” he said, indicating the torn robe.

“I
was never one for pomp and ceremony anyway,” Althalos grinned.

The
girl screamed again as the base of her crate caught fire, she tried to stand on
tiptoe in an attempt get as far away from the heat as possible. Frendel
fastened the wet material around his mouth and then poured one of the buckets
over himself and the robe. Cody, the prince and two other men picked up the
remaining buckets and readied themselves.

Despite
the weight in his hands, Cody knew there was nowhere near enough water
contained inside the buckets to have much impact on the fire. Around him,
people still ran in a panicked frenzy, oblivious to what was going on. The
mother now joined the escaped stoneholders and watched Frendel with a look of
hope as she muttered a prayer.

Frendel
took a deep breath to compose himself as he sought the best spot to engage the
fire. The wall of flames hissed and crackled like a breathing animal daring
them to attack. Frendel turned and nodded that he was ready and in unison Cody and
the others threw his water at the flames.

The
blaze momentarily diminshed as the water doused it. For a moment Cody thought
they had extinguished part of the fire, but it soon began to flare again.
Frendel did not hesitate and ran through the opening; he leapt onto the crates
like a cat and grabbed the girl. The girl saw him coming but only screamed
louder. When he reached her, he did not waste any time in smothering the robe
around her tiny body and lifting her over his shoulder.

He
turned to come back the same way, but the raging fire had already recovered,
blocking his path. The others had gone to fetch more water but had not yet
returned. Cody could only look on helplessly. He saw Frendel looking around,
desperately searching for a spot to run through. Their eyes met and his heart
sank as he saw the look of resignation in Frendel’s eyes.

“Catch
her,” he said and before Cody could say anything he shifted the girl from his
shoulders and grabbed her by the hand and foot. The robe fell away from her and
she screamed as the flames licked at her hair. He swung her back once and then
threw her with all his might, letting out a bellow as he did so. The girl flew
through the air towards Cody, skimming the top of the inferno.

She
seemed to move in slow motion, her body spun as it cleared the flames. Cody
reached out to catch her but only succeeded in cushioning her fall. She hit him
full in the chest, the impact knocking the wind out of him and sending him
sprawling onto the cobbled street. Althalos immediately picked her up and then
rolled her on the floor, putting out the small patches of fire on her dress.
The mother was there straight away, cradling her daughter.

Cody
was not interested in the girl, though. Frendel had taken a few steps back on
the crate in an attempt to give him a run up to launch himself clear.
You
can make it, please make it.
An hour ago, he had despised the man, now he
was praying for his safety. Frendel began running but before he had taken his
second step, the crate collapsed and he disappeared into the fire.

For
an eerie moment there was silence before a sickening scream filled the air.
Cody moved towards the fire but found his path blocked by the prince. He could
see nothing but the fire. Suddenly Frendel burst out of the flames and onto the
floor next to them screaming in agony.

The prince
reacted first, rolling Frendel in the same way he had the girl. Others soon
followed suit and splashed him with the second wave of water. Eventually they
extinguished the flames. What was left of Frendel’s body turned Cody’s stomach.

He
had never seen such a horrific sight. It looked like every part of Frendel had
been on fire. His clothes had burnt away in places and in others burnt into his
skin. Part of his flesh was charred so badly it had already gone hard. Wounds
oozed blood so he looked like a black figure with stripes of red. His hair was
completely gone and his scalp was a mixture of pink and brown flesh.

The
worst part was the smell. He had heard of fire victims smelling of cooked meat
but had never experienced anything like it before. It horrified him but worse,
appealed to him at the same time. He could only stare at the sight.

Frendel
stopped screaming enough to look at Cody and the prince.

“Get
out of the city, you fools. Don’t make it all for nothing,” he said through
gritted teeth. Cody marvelled at how he could even possibly be alive.

“Go,”
Frendel bellowed at them.

Cody
hesitated, it did not feel right to just leave him. He looked at the prince and
it was clear from the uncertainty in his eyes he was thinking the same. He
noticed a patrol of city guards descend upon the street.

“I’ll
take care of him.” It was the mother that had spoken; she was standing behind
them but was transfixed on Frendel. “I owe him my daughter’s life.”

“We
are wanted men,” Cody said uncertainly. The guards had blocked off the end of
the street and were now marching forwards, shepherding everyone toward the
middle. At the other end of the road, more guards appeared. This was their last
chance to escape.

“I
know exactly who you are,” the woman said. “Now go before they usher us all
into the fire.”

Cody
looked at Frendel who appeared to be unconscious. There was nothing they could
do for the dying hero now. He would have to hope the woman would look after
him. Cody nodded his thanks to the woman before fleeing with the prince.

*
* *

As
Jefferson descended the stairs into the Pit, Delmut was waiting for him. The
keeper of the Pit looked nervous, his hideous tattoos doing little to disguise
the fear on his face.

“We
have a big problem,” he said as Jefferson approached him.

Jefferson
hated everything about the man. The painted face was meant to inspire fear in
people, but it merely evoked disgust in him. People that hid behind a mask were
cowards in his eyes. The man’s twisted, yellow stained teeth offended him. Even
his voice, a sickly sanguine tone that complimented his foul breath was
abhorrent to him.

Yet
there was no denying the man was useful. He had never known another man who
took so much pleasure from torturing others. The fires he had set throughout
the city were also proving to be extremely effective, weakening the city’s
defences even more so than the damage inflicted by the Gloom. Still, despite
his uses, Delmut’s statement irritated him.

“Let
me guess, not only did you not kill Althalos, you have now let him escape and
have no idea where he is?” Before Delmut could answer, Jefferson struck him
with the back of his hand. The keeper of the Pit reeled at the blow and then
smiled, tasting the blood that flowed from his split lip.

“The
trouble with you is that you do not see the bigger picture. You wallow down
here in this stinking prison, dishing out punishments and following orders like
a dog and therefore fail to see the overall scheme of things.”

Jefferson
walked past Delmut towards the prison cells, listening to make sure Delmut
followed. He reached the door which was protected by the same guard he had
encountered before. The guard bristled as he approached, his nose now bandaged.
This time he opened the door without any questions. As Jefferson walked through,
the guard spoke.

“Good
evening, sir, thank you for teaching me a valuable lesson—” he began.

Jefferson
punched him in the throat causing him to sink to the floor. His hands clasped
his neck as he wheezed. He looked at Jefferson in disbelief.

“Lesson
number two, just because I break your nose, doesn’t mean you can now talk to
me. Learn your place in this world,” he said.

Delmut
stepped over the guard without even looking down, a huge grin on his face.
It
appears he cares even less for his staff than he does his prisoners
.

Jefferson
carried on walking. He passed the prison cells without even glancing at the
prisoners. He stopped at the end of the corridor where there was a table and a
solitary chair. On the table was a cup and a flask of wine.
How can he
survive down here each day?
Jefferson sat at the chair and lifted his feet
onto the table. He poured himself some of the wine and spat it out after the
first sip.

“How
can you drink this putrid shit?” he asked. Delmut smiled, picking up the
discarded cup and drank deeply.

“I
have to be content with what I am given,” he smiled, revealing hideous teeth.
Jefferson shuddered before continuing.

“Althalos
escaping is no longer a problem. Marybeth’s failure to attend with the other stoneholders
was an unexpected bonus.”
Unexpected indeed!
“The Ritual failing was the
main aim. We had to demonstrate that Jacquard, like his father, is not fit to
rule Frindoth. The people will now see this and look to a new leader. One that
can lead them with strong authority, Lord Vashna,” he said.

He
looked at Delmut who stared off down the corridor. The painted man looked
decidedly bored. Jefferson realised that the despicable man had probably heard
this sermon a thousand times.
Well
,
the worthless dog can hear it a
thousand more if I deem it so.

“How
will Vashna be able to stop the Gloom?” Delmut said.

“Because
once all the other stoneholders have been caught and sacrificed, the only way
to appease the Gloom is imprisoned in the lower cells and I will make sure
Vashna gets the credit,” he said.

Delmut
shifted uncomfortably.

“As
I tried to tell you earlier. We have a problem,” he said.

*
* *

The
effect of Rhact’s words on Marybeth surprised her. She followed the father from
a distance over the next three days. Eventually, after roughly following her
directions, he had stumbled upon his wife and daughter’s campsite by chance.
His son had still not been found.

She
watched fascinated at the effect the missing boy had on the family. When the
family had met up, there seemed to be an unspoken relief Rhact had found them
again. The wife hugged him for what seemed to Marybeth an impossible amount of
time. That relief developed into a stoic resolve and a determination to find
Jensen and reunite the family at all costs. She had been touched by the
displays of solidarity amongst the three of them, a reassuring squeeze of the
hand here or an arm around the shoulder there.

As
the days went by, though, the united front began to slowly dissolve as Jensen’s
absence looked more and more permanent. Conversation was limited and often met
with an irritable response. Anger crept into their behaviour.

On
the morning of the third day, Rhact snapped. They awoke to the sounds of
thunder, followed by an intense shower. Marybeth watched as the three family
members scrambled to clear up their possessions. Rhact tried to fold away the
canvas they were using as a shelter. He cursed as each time he thought he had fastened
the material in his storage bag the belt popped open and spewed the canvas back
into the rain.

On
the fourth attempt, the canvas fell into a muddy puddle. Rhact swore to the sky
and then stamped on the canvas repeatedly. He took out his frustration on a
lantern they were clearing away by, kicking it about the camp. He snatched a
pan out of Janna’s hand and hurled it into the trees. His wife and Janna just
watched him, stunned by his antics.

“Give
me a fucking break!” he yelled to the sky. Marybeth felt a pang of sympathy for
him. He had never asked to be put in this situation, yet found himself trying
to hold his family together in an impossible situation.

She
briefly toyed with the notion of helping him find his son, but then dismissed
it. It was not her place to get involved. Her own mission was of more
importance. She needed to take the stone from Janna and then escort her back to
the Ritual table on the mountain. Whilst they were heading in the correct
direction, she was happy to watch from a distance.

She
watched now as Rhact slumped to the floor, his hands covering his eyes. Neither
his wife nor Janna comforted him, but silently went about collecting the
possessions and storing them away in the wagon. Marybeth felt a twinge of anger
at their lack of sympathy for him. He needed their support as much as they
needed his. For a moment she thought of comforting him herself.
Why are you
being so weak?
she chastised herself.

She
had never been with a man, never trusted one since her father died. Yet oddly
she had told Rhact about her father’s death, something she had never mentioned
to anyone else. She was not even sure why she had blurted it out. It had been
foolish and careless of her.

For
years she had kept her true feelings towards Iskandar hidden as she infiltrated
the Order to learn more of its ways. She was cautious never to let anyone
notice her hatred of the man. There were times this had been easy to conceal,
as she found herself admiring Iskandar and inspired by his manner. It was these
at times she had to remind herself what he did, so that her hatred of him could
fester once again.
His time will come
.

Her
thoughts returned once again to those last days when her father and she had
been together. Her father had broken his promise to work on the house for only another
month. In fact, several months slipped by. Months in which Marybeth grew more
and more upset with him. Their evening meals were now weekly meals. When they
happened they seemed to be a burden to her father. This angered her as their
meals was their time together and their irregularity indicated how much they
were growing apart.

One
night Marybeth confronted him about breaking his promise. She expected him to
be angry with her, but instead he just pushed his plate away and looked out the
window. She noticed he wasn’t eating so much back then as well.

“I’m
being a lousy father to you, aren’t I?” he said.

“You’ve
been busy, that’s all,” she replied, but the tears that trickled down her face
betrayed her true feelings.

“You’ve
probably guessed that I am doing more than building a house.”

She
had shrugged, although the truth was she thought exactly that but was too
afraid to bring up the subject.

“I’ll
be finished as soon as I can, I’m not promising when, but I can promise I am
working very hard to be done. It is for the best, sweetie,” he had said and
then he must have seen the disappointment in her eyes as he added, “I’ll tell
you what, every time we have one of these dinners, my job and Iskandar are
completely off limits, is that a deal?”

She
was pleased at this as he seemed to mean it. The only thing was there was never
another meal again.

A
couple of days later, she had been woken in the night by her father’s screams.
She went into his room and listened as he talked in his sleep. She wanted to
wake him but was too intrigued by what he was saying.

“Stop
him … must stop him … must find it … not our place …” he mumbled and then
slipped into a calmer sleep.

In
the morning, her father left for work before she woke up. She did not mention
her father’s mumblings to him when he came home later that night as he seemed
in a foul mood, barking orders at the innkeeper and slamming his bedroom door.
The next night he spoke in his sleep again.

A
few days later he came home later than he had ever done. Marybeth had already
taken herself to bed, but the commotion her father caused downstairs woke her.
He was shouting at the innkeeper to fetch him more wine. She crept downstairs
and watched as he lost himself in the drink.

After
guzzling a second flask, he stumbled to his feet and put on his coat. She was
horrified at the thought of him going out into the night in his drunken state
but did not know how she could stop him. Instead she followed him out into the
cold.

The
two things that really stuck in her memory of that night (apart from what was
about to occur), was just how drunk he was and how much she wished she had put
on a coat. Her father made his way to the stable, swaying from side to side. He
seemed to take two steps forwards and then several shuffling steps sideways. He
took several attempts trying to mount a horse before setting off at a slow
canter.

She
followed the best she could, but on foot she soon fell behind. It did not
matter, though, because as soon as he descended into the valley she knew where
he was headed. She jogged after him, but despite the exertion getting her blood
flowing, she did not warm from the chill. The wind stung her face as she ran.

After
an hour spent with a mixture of jogging and walking briskly, she saw the light
emanating from the cave house. In the dark it was hard to see and had she not
known where to look she would have surely missed it.

As
she approached the concealed house, she heard her father’s raised voice. He did
not seem to be slurring as much; the journey must have sobered him. She crept
to a window in the rock face and dared to take a quick peek inside. Her father
was pacing back and forth in front of a blazing fire. Two armchairs faced the
fire and she could just make out the top of Iskandar’s head over the back of
one of the chairs. The fire had a wooden mantelpiece, on top of which were an
array of books of various shapes and sizes.

“You
need to calm down,” Iskandar said.

“I
don’t need to do anything. What you are doing is totally unacceptable,” her
father replied.

“Unacceptable
to you, maybe. I have taught you much, but do not lose sight of the fact that
you are new to these ways.”

“That
has nothing to do with it. Who are you to play Moon God with people’s lives?”

“I
am not playing Moon God. I am simply doing what is best for Frindoth.”

A
loud noise, the sound of something crashing to the floor, caused Marybeth to
jump where she was huddled underneath the window. She shivered from the cold
but also from fright. She had never heard her father this angry and the last
person she wanted him to be arguing with was Iskandar. She desperately wanted
to glance in the window again, but was convinced Iskandar would sense her
presence and see her. Her father’s footsteps stopped their pacing.

“You
are deciding people’s fate for them and that is playing at being a Moon God,”
her father said.

“Nonsense,
I am merely choosing to not reveal an ancient lore to the world in order to
protect it.”

“It
is not for you to decide.”

“It
is the right thing to do.”

“Says
you.”

“Yes,
says me.”

Silence
followed as the two men appeared to have reached an impasse.
What in the Tri-moons
were they talking about?
She had no idea her father had gotten involved in
something as big as this. He was talking about the fate of Frindoth. What did
Iskandar mean when he spoke of her father learning his ways? She suspected
there was something different about him but couldn’t imagine what in the world
that could be.

To
her dismay, her teeth began to chatter. She immediately tried to squeeze her
jaw shut with her hands, willing them to stop. The red moon emerged from behind
the clouds, casting an eerie glow. She became very anxious in the red light. An
old saying from Pewtory the bard popped into her head:

“When the sky alone is red, on land there will be bloodshed.”

There
were many who believed the red moon by itself portended danger or something
terrible was about to happen. She had always laughed at the silliness of such
ideas, but tonight the old saying seemed very real.

“I’m
sorry, Iskandar, you have taught me much, but the king needs to know about
this.”

“You
know I won’t let you do that.”

“I’m
afraid, my friend, you don’t have much choice.”

Marybeth
gasped at the distinct sound of a sword being unsheathed. It must have been
Iskandar that held the blade as her father definitely didn’t have one on him
when he left the inn.

“Don’t
be a fool, Thom,” Iskandar said.

She
wanted to rush to her father’s aid, but was paralysed with fear. All she could
do was stare at the blood red moon. Its rays seemed to shine directly onto the
cave house, penetrating the rocky walls. From inside came the sound of a
struggle as the two men wrestled with the sword. A loud crash told her one of
the chairs had fallen on its back, she squeezed her eyes shut, but the image of
the circular moon was etched onto the back of them. She willed her father to be
safe.
What can I do? I am just a girl.

The
commotion inside continued, glass shattered on the floor and crunched underfoot
as if treading on snow. The talking was done, and the only sounds the two men
made were the odd grunt as they tried to gain the upper hand.

At
one point, the two men fell against the window. She risked a look and could see
her father’s back pressed against the frame. She pressed against the wall
trying to make herself invisible.
I should be doing something to help him.

She
watched their shadows wrestle on the ground in front of her. Iskandar was
slightly taller than her father but they seemed equally matched in strength.
The shadows disappeared from the window and she heard a crash from deeper
within the room.

Finally,
there was a flash of light, followed by an agonising groan, someone’s dying
breath. She wanted to scream into the night, but managed to control the
impulse.
Don’t let it be him, please don’t let it be him
, she thought.
There came the sound of a man walking around the room and then a voice.

“I’m
sorry, my friend, I should have been more careful and not allowed you to
discover the truth.” It was Iskandar.

Marybeth
ran into the night. “What was I supposed to do? I was only a girl.”

“Do
you make a habit of talking to yourself when no one is around?” A voice she
recognised made her jump. She turned to find Mondorlous had crept up beside
her.

“Something
on your mind?” he said. What passed for a smile twitched his lips.

“How
did you find me?” she asked, she was annoyed she had allowed someone to sneak
up on her.

“With
difficulty, I must say, but I am a member of the Order, I would be upset if you
doubted my methods.” She shrugged in response. He followed her gaze and spied
Rhact and his family. “You, young lady, have a lot of explaining to do.”

Leaving
Rhact’s family to clear up their mess, the two members of the Order crept away.
Marybeth led him to a hollow in the woods where she had set up a crude shelter
of her own. She had selected the hollow because it was naturally shielded by
the trees and the dense moss made it an attractive place to rest. The rain,
however, had made the moss smell a sweet, sickly odour that even Mondorlous
wrinkled his nose at. He seemed amused as he surveyed the trinkets she had hung
from the trees and the pot smoking like a cauldron.