Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (12 page)

Rhact
left his house in the dead of the night. He had once again been sleeping in the
rocking chair beside Janna. Before he left, he kissed her. At least she was
sleeping. All the other nights she had simply carried on staring straight
ahead. These nights disturbed him as they reminded him of Jon Slow being
possessed.

She
lay spread-eagled, her chestnut hair all tangled, spilt over her face. Her mouth
open slightly and a thin line of drool had seeped out. It left a damp patch on
her pillow. Rhact smiled, he loved her so much. When parents thought of their
children, they remembered the perfect images of them sleeping peacefully,
curled up and looking cute, but Rhact loved the imperfect images of Janna and
Jensen: at village balls, Janna’s muddy gown in contrast to all the other girls’
immaculate dresses, or Jensen’s insistence in wearing a rag around his neck when
the conduct for boys his age was shirts. The memories brought a fresh pang of
fear and sadness within him. How could he leave it to chance that she be spared?

The
thought made him angry. He had no idea what the witch wanted from him, but he
would not be weak. He would fight her if it came to it.

He crept out of
the house without waking Kiana. His wife had made him promise to wake her
before he left but once she had surprised him and fallen asleep, he knew he
wasn’t going to.
The village was bathed in the pale
moonlight from just one of the moons, giving it a bluish glow. The streets were
deserted at this hour. There were no lights on any of the houses he passed.
Even so, he kept to the shadows of the blue moon light.

There
was no such thing as a curfew imposed by Mayor Pinkleton (the town would object
strongly to such a law), but people are both nosey and suspicious and given
that any one person knew about three-quarters of the town’s population, people
often thought it was their right to know everyone’s business.

The
only sound he heard emanated from Andre Hollington’s bedroom window. A playful
slap followed by a woman’s squeal and a giggle. Rhact found it brought a smile
to his face despite himself. At least someone was finding a way to deal with
the tension.

He
did not have to travel far to reach the witch’s temporary abode. She had
constructed a crude but effective shelter a short walk into the wood. A faint
glow from the embers of a fire revealed where she was camped.

As soon
as Rhact saw it, he stopped to study the area. He could not see the witch but
assumed she lay within the sleeping quarters. It consisted of two wooden sticks
stuck in the ground with a length of material tied to them and then to the base
of a neighbouring tree. The whole shelter looked like a tent chopped in half.

He
began to approach, but soon slowed. He was suddenly conscious that this was a
witch he was dealing with. Whilst he didn’t particularly believe all the
exaggerated stories about Marybeth, he had seen enough of her over the last few
days to certainly be afraid of her. In the middle of the forest in the dead of
the night, the stories suddenly seemed more believable.

The
wood that only a few seconds ago had smelt fresh with pine, now smelt dank and
musty. The campfire cast enough light to make out Marybeth’s camp. Scattered
about were various objects that made him aware of who he was coming to see.
There were numerous bottles that were filled with different coloured liquid,
some were steaming and others glowed, illuminating the area in a myriad of
eerie colours. There were also groups of sticks that had been tied together
using twine, which no doubt represented something meaningful to the witch, but
just looked like a child’s toy to Rhact.

As he
crept towards the witch’s shelter, the fabric that hung from the tree obscured
his view. He tried to stare through the cloth, willing his sight to bore
through the shelter and determine whether or not the witch was lying in her
makeshift bed. Unable to make anything out, he cautiously began to circle the
shelter. He figured if he maintained a safe distance between himself and the
shelter, he could weigh up the situation. He winced as a twig snapped under his
boot. He paused, waiting to hear if he had been detected. The only sound came
from the crickets. He went to continue but a raspy voice spoke out of the
darkness that told him he was wrong.

“I
know what you are planning. Are you sure you have thought about the consequences?”

Rhact
jumped slightly and this angered him.

“I
have to protect my family, crone,” he said as he searched around looking for
the voice.

“Your
pleasant greeting is touching.”

“Do
you deserve such? You arrived delivering nothing but misery with your malicious
prophesies.”

“It
is my role, my curse. Without which, towns would suffer, I save millions of
lives, if it wasn’t—”

“Spare
the lecture. I want to know if my daughter is to be selected.”

“I
am no fortune teller.”

“Yet
you know I am planning to flee with my family.”

Rhact
surprised himself with his directness. In truth he was petrified and was
struggling to make his tone firm. He hoped Marybeth would not pick up on this,
although she could probably smell his fear. Rhact still didn’t have any idea
where she was, which made him more anxious. It wasn’t a dark night and he could
clearly see all of her camp, yet there was no sign of her.

“Only
the stones can decide her fate. Yet you are correct, I do possess a certain
soothsaying ability.”

At
this Marybeth paused, whether for dramatic effect or contemplating whether she
wished to reveal more to him, he was unsure.

“If
you flee, your family will endure terrible suffering, possibly death.”

“If
my daughter is chosen my family will die inside anyway,” he said.

“Then
know this also, you’ll never be free from the decision you make. You should
know that the town will suffer devastation like it has never known. Scores upon
scores of people will be killed. There will be only a handful of survivors. Can
your love for your family outweigh the death of your friends and townsfolk?”

“That
is for me to decide.”

As
he said it, he clenched his fists. How dare this witch march into his town and
deliver such news and proclaim to be moralistic.

“You
enjoy this, don’t you? You get your kicks out of watching others suffer? You
travel around from town to town and deliver hateful prophesies. You get to
watch the despair your news inflicts on families, whilst all the time
protesting your sanctimonious views and claiming to be providing a service,”
Rhact said at last.

His
anger made his tongue reckless; nevertheless, he was again surprised by the
boldness he felt. He steeled himself, waiting for the backlash. Instead,
Marybeth was silent. After a while, this angered him further.

“Can
you not even admit it? Or do you only hide away in the shadows when you are
confronted? You probably summon the Gloom yourself?”

At
this there was a loud crack and a flash of purple light. Its brightness
temporarily blinded him, forcing him to shield his eyes. He could see the witch
crouched on a branch of a tree on the edge of camp. She held a short staff with
a small glowing orb on the end.

Once
again he was amazed at her beauty. She wore a brown cloak with the hood up
which partially concealed her blonde hair. He could clearly make out her face,
though, her smooth skin and voluptuous lips. She pulled these into a sneer.

“I
know you don’t honestly believe that, peasant. But if you want me to prove what
I am capable of, I would gladly escort your family to Lilyon and force you to
watch as the Gloom devours your daughter’s ensnared body.”

He
immediately went weak at the knees and forced down the rising bile in his
throat. His anger dissipated as he looked into the crone’s fierce unblinking
eyes. He held her gaze for a little while before lowering his head. He felt
ashamed that his attempt at bravery had been so easily exposed.

What
was he thinking? He was a humble man trying to raise a family; he was no
warrior. His destiny was not to do battle with beings he did not understand. Or
was it? By considering fleeing with his family, was he in fact choosing this
path? Was he cut out for this? The answer came to him instantly. He would do
anything to protect his family, all of his family. If that meant slaying
demons, or taking on whole armies single-handedly, then so be it. He looked up
and was surprised to see the witch was no longer there.

“Well?”
he froze as he heard her whisper in his ear.

“That
won’t be necessary,” he managed to say.

He could
feel her body close to his and shivered. He was afraid he had overstepped the
mark and bit back his remaining comments. There was a short pause, before she
sighed.

“We
have started off on the wrong foot. My intention is not to intimidate you.”

“What
are your intentions then? Why did you summon me here? Why me?” He was going to
call her a “crone” again but something in the way her voice had changed stopped
him. She suddenly sounded weary.

“It
is actually in my interests for your daughter to not attend the Ritual.”

Rhact
felt his jaw fall. He had not expected her to say that. It went against
everything he knew of the Order and what they stood for. He turned to face her
but could see nothing in her expression to indicate she was bothered by his
surprise.

“You
are willing to encourage all of the death and destruction you just spoke of?”

“If
I can, I will prevent it, but some casualties will be inevitable. Believe it or
not, I do not like the Gloom and I intend to do something about it.” Rhact
flinched as she grabbed his wrists. Her grip was stronger than he expected it
would be. “I need two things from you and your family.”

Rhact
nodded for her to go on.

“You
are to not say a word about this to anyone. I will be watching and if I see
even a hint that you are going to tell anyone, I will kill you.” She stared.

Rhact
felt his stomach churn; he had no doubt she would carry out her threat. “And
the second,” he managed to whisper.

The
witch circled him until she was facing him. She moved towards him so her face
was only inches from his. Her breath was sweet. Again not what you would expect
from the stories of witches he was told about in the taverns. He reflected that
this was more terrifying than if her breath was foul.

“Keep
your daughter alive.”

At
that she turned and sat down by the fire, her gaze fixed on the flames. After a
moment it became clear to Rhact that his audience with the witch was over. He
turned and began to walk back to the town. After a few steps, he paused and
asked the witch over his shoulder, “I don’t get it, won’t the Order find out?”

There
was long pause and Rhact began to think she had drifted off to sleep before her
soft voice said, “I hope not, otherwise we will wish the Gloom had killed us.”

It
was not the comforting answer he was hoping for.

“I
would hurry back if I were you, your daughter is about to wake up from her
trance,” she said.

Rhact
did not hesitate and sprinted back to his home.

 
*
* *

Jensen
lay in Ned Thornton’s barn with Brenna’s head nestled on his chest. She had one
arm draped loosely around his stomach and her legs entwined with his. With the
hay digging in his back, Jensen could honestly say he was not feeling the most
comfortable he had ever felt. Still, he did not care, as he listened to
Brenna’s soft breathing.

They
had positioned themselves so they could see through the shutter to the night
sky, the blue moon and millions of stars. There was a nervous tension between
them, as a level of expectancy hung in the air. Jensen didn’t like the feeling.
He was used to everything being so easy with her.

He
had never been with a girl before. Sure, he had fumbled around with plenty, but
he had always told himself despite how many of his friends boasted about it, he
was going to wait until it had some semblance of meaning. This went completely
against most of the attitudes of the men he had ever met, who saw it as their
right to copulate when they wanted to as a husband, or seek out the fleeting
pleasure of being with a whore. Those attitudes were fine, but Jensen figured
that when he did spill his seed, it would be with someone who meant something
to him. He believed Brenna was that person.

The
two of them had been secretly seeing each other since the start of the summer.
Until then, Jensen had regarded her as nothing more than Brody’s little sister,
sometimes annoying, but mostly all right as far as sisters go. She had a mischievousness
about her that Jensen recognised in himself. Whereas Janna and Brody were
always the ones that hesitated when he came up with any plans that might prove
unlawful, Brenna would always back him up.

It
was on the night that Jensen had thought of one of these impish schemes he
started to see her in a different light. He had come up with the idea to break
into the cellar of the Green Stag Inn and steal a whole cask of ale. Brody and
Janna were quick to protest, pointing out the flaws in the plan and the trouble
they could all get into, but Brenna encouraged the idea. When she began calling
her elder brother a chicken, he agreed to the idea out of defiance.