Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (3 page)

At
the mention of the leader of the Order’s name, Marybeth opened her mouth to
speak. The stranger, however, headed her off, “I told you I don’t like to be
questioned.” Marybeth flapped her mouth like a fish, caught between ignoring
his threat and satisfying her curiosity.

“Why
are you telling me this?” she said at last. A brace of carrion landed on a tree
nearby. One of them cawed loudly whilst the other cocked its head as if
intrigued by the question she had asked.

“I
want you to obtain the scroll, learn how to defeat the Gloom and then do
exactly that. It is what your father believed in and it is what has motivated
you since your father’s death. I am just giving you the means to do it.”

Marybeth
brushed the crumbs from her tunic and stared at the river in front of her. The
water flowed past, oblivious to the life she led. Its only aim was to rush to
an unknown destination and get there as quickly as possible, without
compromise.

It
was true. This is what she had always wanted—a way to defeat the Gloom and end
the oppression of Frindoth. Joining the Order had been a means to an end, she
needed to find out the truth about her father’s death and seek justice for it.

“Why
not you?” This time it was Marybeth that raised her hand before the man could
speak. “I know you don’t like to be questioned, but if you wish me to do this,
I deserve to know why you can’t do it yourself or why I should believe what you
are saying.”

The
man’s face darkened. His eyes shifted colour from green, to blue, to red before
he regained some composure.

“Let’s
just say that I was once part of the Order but was asked to leave because of my
beliefs. As a result, it is better if I keep my existence a secret for now.”

Marybeth
nodded but the answer had left her feeling uncomfortable.

“There
is also the small matter of my duty. I need to be in Longcombe to escort those
selected to the Ritual,” she said.

The
man smiled revealing perfect white teeth.

“That
will not be a problem,” the stranger said as he unfurled a parchment before her
to reveal a map of Frindoth.

Rhact
stared into the dying embers of the fire at the Green Stag Tavern as he lifted
his tankard and downed the last dregs of his ale. Wiping the froth away from
his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic, he looked around. It was busy tonight,
as it always was now summer had begun. He knew virtually everyone sat at the
various tables scattered around the bar.

Banbury
Wilmot, the owner of the tavern, arranged the tables so that none of them were
facing the same direction. Every morning he would move the tables; he believed
that if he did this, no regulars could object to strangers unwittingly sitting
in “their” normal seats. Rhact actually thought the idea was quite clever as it
also meant that the clientele were never separated by class, as they were in
some of the other inns throughout the town.

Andre
Hollington, a large black man surrounded by young girls, raised his tankard in
salute to Rhact from the other side of the inn when he saw him looking around.
Rhact nodded in response.

“Here
we go, my friend, final one for the road,” a full tankard was placed before him
along with a small glass of clear liquid.

“Thanks,
Mertyn,” Rhact said as he watched his friend squeeze into the seat opposite
with an exaggerated groan. Although still considered young, Mertyn was
displaying the first signs of ageing. His strawberry blond hair prominently
displayed the first streaks of grey in it. The scar above his brown eyes had
now faded to a thin white line.

“What’s
on your mind?” Mertyn asked.

“How
do you know there is something on my mind?” Rhact said.

“You
think I don’t know by now when there is something on my friend’s mind? See this
old scar? It’s given me special powers to see into the mind of the thug that
gave it to me. Come on, tell old Mertyn Brooker.”

Rhact
smiled at the memory. Things had been different when they were children, less
to worry about and more to dream about. The two of them had been playing with a
self-made slingshot. Mertyn bet Rhact he couldn’t hit him with his best shot
from twenty feet away. Rhact had taken the bet and spent ages lining up the
stone. He measured the path of the stone’s trajectory, his tongue between his
teeth concentrating.

He
settled for aiming two feet above Mertyn’s head and let fly. He knew instantly
as the stone whistled towards his best friend that it was the perfect shot. He
shouted at Mertyn to duck but Mertyn was either too stupid or too ignorant to
move.

The
stone connected with Mertyn’s head and he fell instantly. Rhact had screamed
with panic thinking he’d killed his friend. After a couple of frantic minutes
spent pacing up and down with his fist in his mouth, Rhact was relieved when
Mertyn had come to, despite the blood seeping from the wound. Rhact had helped
him to his feet and whilst he was concerned for the way Mertyn had to lean on
him because his legs were so wobbly, Mertyn was full of excitement at Rhact’s
shooting ability and was already planning what he could aim at next. Both of
them got spanked with a wooden paddle when they got home. Rhact always thought
that was particularly unfair on Mertyn.

“Well,
smug man, there is nothing on my mind, I was actually remembering how I
inflicted that sorry scar on your ugly mug.”

“Luck
was how,” Mertyn replied.

Rhact
laughed, he knew Mertyn was in awe of his ability with a slingshot or a sword.
Since that day he’d seen Rhact demonstrate his accuracy too many times and even
save their lives on occasion.

Mertyn
drank a couple of mouthfuls, peering at Rhact as he did. Rhact looked away,
trying to concentrate on something at the bar. Behind it Banbury was wiping
some glasses and then holding them up against the light of the fire looking for
smear marks.

“Something
is up!” Mertyn said. Rhact knew Mertyn would not drop the subject.

“It’s
nothing, just got this feeling.”

“That
is the ale doing that, save your amorous affection until you get home to Kiana,
I’m too tired.”

Mertyn
wore a puzzled expression as his teasing only invoked a weak smile from Rhact.

“Okay,
what’s this feeling?”

Rhact
took a deep breath. They had been friends since they were born. When they
became teenagers, they decided they wanted more than to be farmers’ sons and
had decided to explore Frindoth. Whilst this was not unheard of in their small
village, it was rare enough for their parents to be bitterly disappointed in
them. This had not deterred them, however, and they set out with dreams of
making it big in Lilyon, aspiring to become squires and one day knights for
King Jacquard.

They
had their fair share of adventures travelling from town to town, but as soon as
they reached Longcombe, Rhact knew they would never go any further. He had
fallen in love with a young dark-haired seamstress. Now sixteen years later,
the young seamstress was his wife and they had two children together. Mertyn
had been keen to go on at first but he too had fallen in love and his first
child was born a week after Rhact’s firstborn. In other words, they were
inseparable and Rhact knew Mertyn would not give up the issue.    

Around
him the tavern began to empty as people made their way back to their homes. Mr
Hollington had gone along with his entourage of girls. A couple Rhact knew by
face but could not place their names helped each other to the door. The woman
stumbled over and fell to the floor, whilst the man overdramatically rushed to
help her.

“I
can’t explain it; I just got a bad feeling about the Ritual.”

“Gloomsday?”
Mertyn said, a frown appearing. Rhact winced, he hated it when Mertyn
trivialised it like that. His friend seemed to notice his discomfort as he felt
compelled to continue. “Look, the Ritual of the Stones is an awful thing,
horrible in fact. Some of the stories we have heard are enough to give any man
nightmares. But it has never even come close to affecting us. Never.”

“That
doesn’t mean it won’t. It could easily be someone we love this time.”

“Yes
it could, but the Ritual asks for twelve people, Rhact, twelve. Out of the
whole of Frindoth. I think our chances are pretty good.”

“I
know all that, doesn’t mean I don’t have this feeling.”

“No,
and I am not dismissing that. I am also not dismissing the fact that we’ve had
a lot to drink as well.”

Mertyn
drained the last of his ale and then picked up his own small glass. He toasted
Rhact and knocked the drink back and grinned at his friend. When he saw Rhact’s
mood had not lifted, he said, “Look, why are you worried? You never worry. I’m
the worrier, remember? I would worry that the sun would not rise tomorrow if I
thought about it long enough. I’ve known you my whole life and nothing has
bothered you, so why are you suddenly getting all serious?”

Rhact
shrugged. He couldn’t say for sure why he was worried. His friend was right, he
tended to laugh away his problems rather than acknowledge them. The fact he was
worried about this made him even more worried.

“You
are worrying about nothing. I bet you two silver coins that come winter we will
be sitting here, just as drunk, with no recollection of this conversation.”

“Now
I am worried,” Rhact said as he stood up and drained his own drinks. “I’ve
known you my whole life and never known you to win a bet.”

* * *

Rhact
entered his house and stumbled over the mat.

“How
was your drink?” Kiana said. There was no sarcasm in her voice; it was an
innocent question.

“Moist,”
Rhact replied.

Kiana
smiled, she was sitting in her rocking chair Rhact had got for her last summer.
Although the night was fairly hot, she sat with a shawl wrapped around her
shoulders. Rhact knew this was for comfort rather than warmth. His wife was
never comfortable being left alone in the house when the children were in bed.

“Our
son still isn’t home yet,” Kiana said. “He promised he would be in before
dark.”

Rhact
waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“He’s
a young boy, that is what he is supposed to do,” he said. 

He
walked over to the basin of water that was on the kitchen table and plunged his
head into it. When he emerged, his long black hair dripping with water, Kiana
handed him a towel.

“He
is only fifteen years old, Rhact. He should be in bed now.”

When
Rhact did not respond, she sighed.

Normally
Jensen’s lateness would not have bothered him. When it came to parenting the
children, Kiana was the one who was the more cautious of the two. He was
constantly persuading her to let the children do things she had reservations
about. Only a couple of days ago he convinced her to allow them to venture
beyond the town walls, something other children their age had been doing for a
number of years.

Tonight
he had allowed the children to go with Mertyn’s kids and explore the old
abandoned guard tower on the outskirts of the town. The building had been
popular with the children of Longcombe for as long as anyone could remember.
Jensen was not a bad lad, he just liked testing the boundaries Rhact and Kiana
imposed upon him.

He
felt Kiana’s arms wrap around his body and her head nuzzle into his shoulder.
He responded by embracing her and kissing the top of her head. He loved how she
had the ability to totally drain the stress from his body with a single touch.   

“Do
you want me to go out and look for him?” he asked.

Kiana
paused before saying, “No, he will come home soon.”

Rhact
knew he would not be able to sleep until Jensen was safely indoors, so he let
Kiana go to bed whilst he waited up for him. He was not concerned for Jensen’s
safety but he was annoyed at his son’s defiance.

It
was well into the night when the creak in the floorboard stirred Rhact from his
sleep. He had dozed off in the rocking chair using Kiana’s shawl for warmth.
The fire had died down to an orange glow. Outside it was now pitch-black.
Another creak sounded from the stairs. Jensen!

“Don’t
think you can sneak past me, young man,” he said.

Silence
was his only response.

Had
he imagined it? Maybe Jensen was already home and in bed
?
Before he could get up to check, though, there was another whine of a
floorboard.

“Jensen,
get back here, I do not wish to wake up the rest of the house, but we are
having this conversation whether you like it or not.”

Eventually
his son emerged from the shadows of the hallway into the room. He had the
decency to look embarrassed but there was also an act of defiance.

“You’re
late,” Rhact said.

“You’re
drunk,” Jensen shot back, motioning to the flask of wine in Rhact’s hand. Rhact
had opened it after Kiana had gone to bed.

“Pathetic.
Is that all you’ve got to say?” 

There
was no need for Jensen to act like this; he had been caught red-handed and was
in the wrong, he should just take the lecture and be done with it. Instead
Jensen snorted and looked away, his green eyes fixating on the floor.

“Is
there a reason why you are late or are you just deliberately out to defy me and
your mother?” Rhact asked. Jensen’s response was to shrug his shoulders.
“Well?”

“Lost
track of the time.”

“That’s
your excuse? You lost track of time? Son, you are fifteen summers old. You are
supposed to be a man. Mertyn and I left home when we were just a little older
than you.”

Jensen
rolled his eyes, as if he’d heard this story a million times before. In truth
he probably had.

“Right,
well, if you are that bad at judging time, then you won’t notice the two weeks
you will spend working nights in the shop, will you?”

Jensen
blew aside the hair that covered one side of his face. He seemed to weigh up
whether it was worth the effort to argue with his father. Even to Rhact the
punishment sounded lame.

He
hated disciplining his children. Not because he hated being strict, but because
he knew he wasn’t particularly good at it. What was worse, they knew it too. It
didn’t help that Jensen now towered a good foot over him. So every time he
tried to be imposing he came across as weak. Why couldn’t they just follow his
rules?

“Are
we done?” Jensen said.

“No
we are not done. You’ve had me and your mother worrying ourselves all night
about where you were. I was going to go out and look for you, even disturb
Mayor Pinkleton to let him know—”

Rhact
stopped in mid-sentence as his son slumped down into a chair and put his boots
up on the kitchen table. He watched as dried mud fell onto the surface. His son
oblivious to the mess it was causing.

In
that moment, Rhact was livid. He hated Jensen’s open disrespect for him and
most of all he hated the fact he was losing the close relationship he had with
his son.

Before
he could think what he was doing, Rhact stomped over to his son, hauled him to
his feet and slapped him across the face. Jensen looked down at him in shock
and as he went to open his mouth to talk, Rhact slapped him again and gripped
Jensen’s shirt, pulling him down toward him so their noses were almost
touching.