Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (7 page)

He
was halfway through the gap when the Custodians spread their wings and let out
a high-pitched shrieking sound from mouths that Marybeth did not think they had.
They towered over the man, who, like Marybeth, covered his ears at the noise.
Hundreds of black spikes burst through their furry bodies, each the size of a
grown man’s finger. The two Custodians closest to the man charged at him,
flattening him between them.

They
withdrew to leave the man standing there, puncture holes covering his body.
Marybeth managed to see the first signs of blood seeping from his wounds before
two more charged at him completely shielding her view. When they withdrew,
another two took their place.

This
continued relentlessly. Each time a pair of the Custodians withdrew, Marybeth
saw the sickening effect their impact had on the man. The shrieking only
intensified. He was now a mass of red, ribs pierced his body and one of his
eyes hung from its socket. He still held the sword, a blue viscous substance
dripping from the blade. She assumed this was from wounding the creatures, but
she saw no sign of damage on them.

Marybeth
was sure that the man would collapse, but the two new Custodians that attacked
each time seemed to hold him up before he could fall. On several occasions, a
Custodian rushed past her, lightly knocking her as it closed in on the man to
inflict more pain.

Finally,
the attacks ceased. What was left of the man slumped to the floor, a mass of
crushed bones, skin and blood, unrecognisable as the man that had been standing
there moments before. The scroll perfectly intact floated to the stone floor as
the Custodians resumed their position surrounding her.

She
stared at their impassive faces for a long time, trying to gauge how they would
react. She knew she had no choice but to pick up the parchment and take her
chance with their gauntlet. The thought of suffering the same fate as the man
made her nauseous. The Custodians stood as still as statues. Quiet sentinels of
the Chamber of scrolls.

She
tried to reach out with her mind, trying to establish a connection with the
creatures. It was no use, the man had been right, her abilities did not work in
the Marshes of Night. The table in the Chamber room stated that the Custodians
would allow the person whose intentions were worthy to borrow the scroll. Was
that her? It must be. After all, inside the Chamber, she had been permitted to
retrieve the scroll without having her arm mangled. This surely indicated she
was worthy?

She
was not convinced. Grabbing the scroll and viewing it within the Chamber walls
was one thing, taking it away from the Marshes was something quite different.
Maybe she could just view the scroll, memorize its inscription and then return
it. She instantly dismissed this idea. If the scroll did contain some secrets
about the Ritual, then she would need it as proof to show the others in the
Order. She knew that they would not just take her word against Iskandar’s.

She
was going to have to take her chances. Besides, even if she left the scroll,
there was no guarantee that the Custodians would let her leave the Marshes
anyway. It was better to attempt to leave with the scroll than die without
trying.

She
retrieved her backpack and hobbled over to the scroll and picked it up. There
were a few minutes when no one moved before the Custodians once again organised
themselves so that a gap was available to walk through. So far they were
behaving in exactly the same way. That was not a good thing, she thought to
herself.

She
approached the gap, focussing on the nearest Custodian. Her feet left the solid
ground of the cobblestones and felt the soft, wet mud. It made a squelching noise,
the only sound that could be heard. As she neared the Custodians, she noticed
two little gills on their necks. They moved smoothly, as all of them breathed
simultaneously.

Her
stomach was churning in fear. She briefly contemplated picking up her attacker’s
sword but then thought better of it. She did not want to show any aggressive
behaviour and did not think a weapon would have been much use anyway.

As
with the man before, the Custodians snapped around to face her when she walked
between them. She flinched at the motion. Her heart felt like it would explode
in her chest. She closed her eyes and took another step. It was at this point
the attacks had started previously. Squeezing her lips together and only daring
to look out of one eye, she took another step. The middle pair of Custodians
snapped around to face her, but that was all they did. Her heart beat even
faster. Every impulse told her to run. Now was her chance.

Instead,
she took another two tentative steps, her injured leg giving out slightly. The
third pair, the last pair, snapped around to face her as she nearly fell. Again
they made no further move. Fixating on a tree in the distance, she took five
more steps until she was clear of the circle.

Suddenly,
the Custodians let out a mighty shriek. Appalled, she whirled around. All of
them extended their wings and faced her. Their eyes blazed in contrast to their
pale bodies, the spikes protruding from their bodies. Marybeth feebly tried to
take a step back but lost her balance and fell in the water. She closed her
eyes and braced herself for the attack.

The
attack did not come. She opened her eyes to see a Custodian launch itself
vertically in the air and disappear amongst the trees. One by one the others
followed. With their shrieks still piercing her ears, Marybeth clutched the
scroll in her hand and fled the Marshes of Night.

Jacquard
adjusted his crown. It was a simple design, but it was getting heavy these
days. He was not an old man yet, but was far from young, and he was weary. The
lines and scars on his face indicated the years of battle and worry he had
endured. Despite the heat, he wore a long blue robe, the edges tinged with fur.
His white shoulder-length hair blew in the morning breeze.

He
stood on top of the palace tower and watched a flock of swallows dip and glide
the currents with ease, enjoying the beauty that was nature and a rare moment
of solitude. Behind him, the fury of the waterfall could be heard plummeting
from the lake his palace was built upon.

Jacquard
closed his eyes as a strong gust of wind swirled around the turret. He enjoyed
the force upon his face coupled with spray from the waterfall. He sensed a
presence behind him and knew immediately who it was. Out of the corner of his
eye he registered him dropping down on one knee and bowing his head.

“Jefferson,
you have been my senior advisor for the past twenty-five years; when we are
alone, you don’t have to observe the pomp and ceremony of dealing with a king.”

“Thank
you, my lord,” Jefferson said.

Jacquard
sighed. He had known Jefferson all his life and never in all that time had the
man failed to observe the correct etiquette around his king. He had been his
father’s advisor when he was a king and Jacquard was only a boy. Even then, he
had seemed old to Jacquard. Nowadays, he needed a stick to walk. His clothes,
still immaculately groomed, hung over his fragile frame. The top of his head
was bald, but wisps of grey hair still grew defiantly on the back and sides.

He
watched with pity as his old friend struggled to get back to a standing
position. He briefly considered the possibility that he should insist Jefferson
retire from his role. The old man should be living out the rest of his days
peacefully in the gardens. He dismissed the notion. Feeling like he was not
needed anymore would kill Jefferson. Besides, there was no other man that knew
as much about the goings on in Frindoth.

Jacquard
looked at his friend and realised he was deeply distressed. Jefferson was not
looking him in the eye. He opened his mouth to talk but each time could not
seem to find the words. Uncomfortable at seeing his friend in this state,
Jacquard took a step towards him. Jefferson reacted by taking a step backwards
and raising a hand to act as a barrier.

“Jefferson,
look at me. Tell me what is wrong.”

He
watched as Jefferson raised his eyes to look him in the eye. His eyes welled
up. A solitary tear trickled down his cheek.

“I
found this in the royal quarters, my lord.”

Jefferson
held out his hand to reveal a white stone. Jacquard recognised it immediately.
His stomach lurched at the sight of it. Such a simple object, yet it posed so
many evil ramifications. With a feeling of dread, he took the stone and
examined it. It was no bigger than a coin and did not have a single blemish.

As a
king, the hardest part of his rule was to preside over the Ritual of the Stones.
This was the third time he would have to do it. He had to watch as twelve
people along with their families were subjected to a living nightmare, not
knowing whether they were going to live or die, before ultimately one was
selected for sacrifice. He took on their grief as if he had a choice and was
somehow responsible for the Ritual. Each time he tried to convince himself that
it was for the greater good of Frindoth, but that did little to make him feel
better. As a king he should be able to protect his people. After all, that is
what they looked to him for.

The
first time he encountered the Ritual, he offered himself as a sacrifice. When
this proved futile, he spent months ordering scholars to consult the archives,
trying to find a way to defeat the Gloom. He gathered the warlords from all the
regions in the land, endlessly discussing their history with them. He even
risked breaching the hundred-year peace treaty by setting foot on Helvastas
soil to consult with the Lakisdori King Raoul Seth, trying to find something,
anything, that might hint at a weakness in the Gloom.

The
results of the debate were always the same. No one in the land had any idea how
to fight the Gloom. Reluctantly, Jacquard, like all of the previous kings,
accepted the Ritual of the Stones was a necessity. Now it had come directly to
his doorstep.

“Where?”
Jacquard said.

Jefferson
looked away from Jacquard again and stared out over Lilyon, biting his bottom
lip. Below him life went on as normal. People far below scurried about their
business like ants.

“WHERE?”

Jefferson
flinched at Jacquard’s raised voice.

“Where?”
Jacquard repeated more softly this time.

“In
Prince Althalos’s room, my lord,” Jefferson said.

Jacquard
fell to his knees. He felt as if he had taken a blow to his stomach. A thousand
thoughts raced through his mind,
no, not my boy, not my son
, he thought,
this can’t be happening.
Not only did he have to ensure this terrible
Ritual took place, this time out of the whole of Frindoth, the stones had
selected his only child.

Two
voices argued inside his head, the voice of Jacquard the father and that of
Jacquard the king. “I can’t let this happen, I won’t let this happen!” the
father voice screamed. “I am the king, I must rule by example. How can I ask
any of my subjects to sacrifice their own lives if I am not prepared to do the
same for me or my own family,” the king in him reasoned. It was the latter
voice that Jacquard knew he would listen to.

“My lord?”
Jefferson said. Jacquard looked up at his old friend and suddenly felt a pang
of sadness for him. He looked frailer than ever. It couldn’t have been easy for
him to deliver this news and Jacquard suddenly had the overwhelming urge to
console him.

“Thank
you for telling me this yourself, Jefferson,” he said. “I don’t think I could
have heard it from anyone else.”

“My lord,”
Jefferson said and then hesitated. He looked his king directly in the eyes
before continuing, “No one else knows … yet.”

Jacquard’s
mouth opened in amazement. He knew full well what Jefferson was insinuating and
was flabbergasted his advisor thought for one moment that he would even
consider hiding the fact his son had received a stone. Jefferson spoke quickly.

“No
one has to know, my lord. I am not suggesting that we cover it up for personal
reasons, you know I have more integrity than that. I am thinking of Frindoth,
my king. Althalos is your only son, the only heir to the throne. If he is
selected, then when you are gone Frindoth will be placed into chaos, everyone
will lay claim to the throne. Frindoth will be placed in a worse situation than
if we disobeyed the Ritual and let the Gloom devour the land.”

Jacquard
shook his head slowly, stunned at what Jefferson was saying.

“Stop
it,” he murmured, but Jefferson continued getting more and more animated.

“We
could put the stone under one of the servant’s pillows, just to avoid the
controversy. There is a good chance that the stone will not even be selected,
but if Frindoth gets wind that the prince could possibly be sacrificed, then
they will be amassing their armies quicker than one of our prisoners scream in
the Pit. They will be chomping at the bit to stake a claim on your throne. They
might not even wait until you are dead. Raoul Seth will certainly invade.”

“No,
Jefferson,” Jacquard whispered.

“I’m
telling you, sire, once Frindoth learns that Althalos is part of the Ritual,
the damage will be done. The seed will be planted in people’s minds at just how
easy it would be for your reign and lineage to end. It will not even matter if
the prince is not chosen, mark my words, they will plan to usurp you anyway.”

“SILENCE!”

Jefferson
jumped and stopped talking, a flash of anger appeared in his eyes but quickly
disappeared.

“What
you are saying goes against everything we have tried to implement since I have
become king. I rule Frindoth in an open and just way, a way that I would expect
to be treated by my king. I am not going to suddenly become some sneaky coward,
using my position for personal gain.

“You
know this, Jefferson. I am insulted that you have even made this suggestion.
Have you taken leave of your senses? Even if you switched the stone to someone
else, the Order would know about it immediately. They would inform the public
and there would be the revolt you talk of anyway. Only this time it would be
because their king had cheated them.”

“I’m
sorry, my king. I never meant to offend you,” Jefferson said. “I was thinking
what was best for the kingdom, but perhaps my personal feelings clouded my
judgment.”

“Yes,
I think on this occasion they have. Now would you be so kind as to leave me to
my thoughts. I appreciate your council as always.”

Jefferson
bowed and retreated down the steps slowly, wincing as he descended. Jacquard
watched him disappear into the darkness. He could feel the start of a headache
coming on. He rubbed his eyes and looked out over the battlements. The swallows
still played their games in the sky, darting towards one another and then
turning at the last minute
. How could Jefferson have even contemplated
hiding the fact that my son had received the stone?
he thought. He must
have known that Jacquard would never have gone along with it.

He
was right about one thing, though; Althalos receiving a stone was a no-win
situation: if Jacquard went along with Jefferson’s plan and hid the fact from
everyone, then the Order would know immediately; if they didn’t, then the
Ritual would expose the deception anyway, for only the twelve selected stoneholders
could cast their stones into the waterfalls. On the other hand, once the
general public discovered that Althalos was one of the twelve, then certain
factions would see this as an opportunity to attack the palace and seize
Frindoth for themselves. They would know if Althalos was selected, then all
that stood between them and the throne was an ageing king with no heir. As much
as they loved him, Jacquard knew that even his own guards might turn against
him in an effort to align themselves with a possible future king.

Could
he blame them? Jacquard reflected. What would be the point in defending him for
a couple of years, only to be executed for treason when he eventually dies?

Jacquard
sighed, unconsciously twirling his wedding band around his finger. His thoughts
turned to his dead wife. He recalled vividly the day, sixteen years ago, when he
got the news that she had fatally fallen from her horse three years ago. He’d
been on the very same tower when Jefferson informed him.

Memories
flashed through his mind: blood stained rocks, strands of golden hair spreading
out from under a brown sheet, the crumbled outline of her head not quite how it
should have been, one side seemed to have fallen in on itself.

A
solitary tear fell down his face which he wiped away in anger. He swore he
would not remember her this way. Mirinda had been his life, his soul. No woman
had ever made him feel so strong and so vulnerable at the same time. She bore
him just one son and had been pregnant at the time of the accident with
possibly another. Only Jacquard and she had known and he had never told anyone
else. There seemed to be little point. Jacquard never entertained the thought
of taking another wife; to him it just didn’t feel like the correct thing to
do.

“Mirinda,
if only you were here. You would know what to do,” he said aloud.

A swallow
screeched overhead as if in answer.

*
* *

Cody
Ramsay sat poking the campfire. Satisfied that there was enough heat, he
cracked two eggs into his frying pan and held it over the flames. He looked out
from his viewpoint on the hillside at the rising sun. Its beauty never ceased
to inspire him. He loved how the land changed colours in a matter of minutes.

At
this precise moment, only a fraction of the sun was visible, peaking through
the mountains of Calipion. It was his favourite time of day; a few golden beams
were clearly visible highlighting select sections of the terrain, singling them
out to showcase their splendour. Rivers glistened, meadows shone an ever
brighter shade of gold and areas of woodland did not seem so dark and
mysterious.

He
set aside his frying pan and placed the cooked eggs on a wooden plate alongside
the mushrooms he had already prepared. He put a few in his mouth and sat back
closing his eyes, savouring the taste. Birds chattered their song to each
other. Overhead he could make out the distinct screech of a hawk.

His
moment of peace was interrupted by the snorting of his horse Silverspeck. She
was still tied to the tree but it was a loose knot. Cody knew there was little
point in doing a proper knot because if she wanted to, Silverspeck could snap
the rope easily. Silverspeck whinnied and looked directly at him.

“All
right, girl, you couldn’t let me enjoy the morning, could you?”

Silverspeck
snorted in response. Cody shovelled a mouthful of eggs into his mouth and put
the plate down.