Set in Stone (11 page)

Inside, Connor moved slowly, clambering along one of the shelves, breathing shallow. This building was used only sparingly, and housed among other things, the town's store of pumice dust, which was used in the quarrying process. A fine layer of the light but gritty powder coated everything. A quick step and a deep breath almost guaranteed a coughing fit, while a careless step would leave telltale footprints.

Protected in this safe haven, he relaxed. He'd hidden here with great success many times. On the other hand, Hamish had only tried it once. He'd ended up sucking on a rock coated with pumice and coughed for ten minutes straight.

The interior was one long, open room lined with sturdy shelves that held tools, boxes of spare parts, and heavy barrels of pumice. Connor wedged himself into an open space on one shelf next to a moldy roll of burlap.

Men's voices sounded outside a moment later, and Connor silently shifted along the shelves to the front wall, where he peeked through the tiny, grime-crusted window set above the door. He could just make out the dim forms of two of the guards, but could not hear what they said. He crouched lower even though he knew they could not see him.

Connor stepped to the left, and his foot slipped on a box of hammer handles. He lurched to one side and barely caught himself, while the box tumbled off the shelf and struck the floor with a loud crash. Flying hammer handles made a thunderous din.

Connor's heart nearly stopped at the sound. The guards would have to be raging drunk and sitting on each other's heads to not hear that. Thinking fast, he stomped hard on the shelf, and it splintered under the blow, tumbling Connor to the floor with a crash.

For a second he lay amid the scattered handles. The guards' voices drew closer, as he had expected. Hopefully the sound of the shelf crashing blended in with the echoes of the fallen box.

The outer door rattled, and Connor quietly crawled along the lowest shelf toward the far window where he'd entered. The door was always padlocked, and he doubted the guards had a key. While they fiddled with it, he could escape out the back.

Just as he was about to climb up onto a barrel of pumice dust under the window, one of the guards spoke just outside. "Aye, there's a window over here. I'll check."

Connor pried open the lid of the barrel that was only about a third full. Outside, the guard grunted loudly as he tried to climb up to the window. Connor prayed that the rickety woodshed would finally collapse, but it held.

He slipped into the barrel and squatted down. It was a tight fit, and he wiggled his feet deep into the pumice to gain the extra two inches he needed to squeeze his head in.

Before he eased the lid back into place, he scanned the room. He'd left some tracks near the hammers, but those would be easy to miss without close inspection. The smudges he'd made crawling on the shelves would be all but impossible to see from the window.

He tried to hold his breath as he eased the lid back into place. Not that he could breathe much, rolled into a ball like one of fat Neasa's Sogail pastries. If he coughed, the guards would have him.

"Empty," a voice called out. "Looks like a shelf gave way."

A low grumbling that sounded a lot like a curse was the only answer. Connor focused on breathing just enough to stay conscious. His face was pressed down onto his knees, and it felt like he'd picked up a splinter in his backside during the squirm into the barrel.

Connor closed his eyes and prayed the soldiers would leave soon, but he didn't dare climb out of the box for half an hour.

Chapter 9

Connor stopped in the shadows near his home to wait and watch, invisible in the deep shadows of twilight. He'd beaten most of the pumice out of his clothing, which of course set off a five minute coughing fit, but he'd had no choice. The light gray powder glowed in the dim light.

Then again, maybe it didn't matter. The streets were unusually empty as most townsfolk were gathered in the town square enjoying the pre-Sogail celebration that had become as much a part of the festivities as the holiday itself.

He waited for ten long minutes before sneaking up to the back door of the house. He slipped inside and crossed the storage room where spare tools, boots, and outer clothing were stored neatly on shelves or pegs. He listened for another minute, but heard no voices he did not recognize.

His mother, who stood kneading bread dough, caught sight of him as soon as he stepped into the kitchen. She handed baby Fiona to Blair, who nearly rivaled Connor's size at ten. He would rival their father's stature, and carried on his still-too-narrow shoulders the weight of the family's hopes for a son to take up the Ashlar hammer.

"Oh, Connor," Lilias said and enveloped him in her arms. Connor leaned into her embrace, and the tension that had knotted his insides all afternoon eased.

"Glad you're back, Connor," said Blair before leaving the kitchen. His voice drifted back to them from the family room. "Dad, Connor's home."

Connor expected his mother to release him so they could join the rest of the family, but instead, his father came into the kitchen and spoke over his shoulder, "Blair, see the other children upstairs."

His father then turned to Connor and, with hands on hips, said, "You've struck a fault line, sure as daylight, son."

"I know, dad. It's terrible."

Lilias held him at arm's length. "You didn't really try to kill Lady Isobel, did you?"

"No," he assured them. "Though she deserved it."

Hendry shook his head slowly, and chuckled, "I've never seen her in such a state. Serves her right."

Lilias covered her mouth with her hand to hide her own smile, and then said sternly, "Hendry, this is serious."

"Did you get the fire out?" Connor asked.

Hendry grunted. "Kitchen's destroyed, but we kept it from spreading. Lady Isobel swore you tried to kill her, but Aileen and Hendry both said they saw the oven break."

Connor nodded. "That's the truth."

"How did it happen?"

He shrugged. "I can't explain it."

"Did the oven really fly?" Lilias asked.

Connor couldn't suppress a grin. "Aye, it flew, with me lying on top." He told them about the experience, although he left out the part where Hamish tampered with the oven. He did not understand what Hamish did, and refused to tell it wrong.

When he told them how he Curse-punched the oven, they shared a worried glance. "Oh, Connor, why couldn't you have waited just one more day?" Lilias said sadly.

"That blasted oven would've killed us both."

"You did the right thing," Hendry said. "But how does it work, that Curse-punch?"

"Hendry," Lilias warned.

"I just . . ."

"No. Not until he's got Patronage."

Connor had yearned for years to talk with someone about his Curse, but his parents were so focused on keeping it secret, they never wanted to explore it. For once, he was relieved.

The Curse had grown in strength while he crouched in the pumice barrel, but something was wrong. Usually it itched along his arms and, as it grew in strength, up into his torso, but now it felt more like little bubbles flitting around under his skin.

He'd never used the Curse twice in one day before, and worried he might have broken it somehow. As much as he hated the Curse, despite how it prevented him from living a normal life, despite how it dragged him down to misery, it had always been a part of his life. He understood how to live with it.

Now, if he'd broken it, who knew what might happen?

"Lady Isobel won't let me go to the Sogail. I'll have to petition the Curse Finders tonight."

Hendry said, "That's the problem son, they're late."

"They can't be late, not this year."

This can't be happening
.

They had to come, had to take him down to Merkland after the Sogail, take him to High Lord Dougal so he could receive patronage and begin the life of a Guardian.

"It might be for the best," Hendry said.

"What?" He couldn't believe his ears. If he failed to obtain Patronage before his sixteenth age-day, he'd be condemned. Executed before the Curse could rage out of control and hurt someone.

Could his father really think it best that he die?

"Think about it, son," Lilias said. "We've been talking while we waited for you. Lady Isobel wants you taken Daor. She will try to interfere with Patronage."

"But she's lying!"

"It doesn't matter. Lord Gavin won't overrule her, so there is nothing anyone can do."

"We don't know what would happen," Hendry added. "The Curse Finders might not be allowed to take a Daor for Patronage."

"That's why I have to find them tonight."

Hendry shook his head. "No, that's why you have to leave for Merkland and petition High Lord Dougal in person."

The words rang through Connor like an icy wind.

Leave Alasdair tonight, before the Sogail?

Suddenly the world felt immense. He'd always known he'd be taken to Merkland once he revealed his Curse, but that was supposed to be after the Sogail, after another night with his family.

Lilias slipped an arm around his waist. "Oh, my boy, I wish it could be different, but your father's right."

Connor had never traveled all the way to Merkland, although he'd often dreamed of it. Merkland was a full day's hike down River Road, and then only if one moved fast. He'd have to travel the unfamiliar road at night.

"Run along upstairs and change into your hunting leathers," Hendry said. "And say goodbye to your siblings. We have a few things packed for you."

The next ten minutes passed in a blur for Connor. None of his siblings knew anything about his Curse, so all he could tell them was that he was leaving on a journey.

Blair took the news stolidly, like he did most things. He was a calm, level-headed kid, slow to anger. Connor loved to tease him, to test the limits of his patience.

When would he get a chance to tease his brother again?

His younger siblings didn't really understand what was happening, so he forced a smile and promised to bring them something when he returned. Wallace, the four year-old, clapped his hands and said, "Bring me a baby pedra."

Down in the kitchen, his mother handed him a pack with spare clothing and food, while his father held out his spare bow and a small pouch of coins.

"Spend them carefully, and they should last until you are in the high lord's service."

Connor thanked them and hugged them, fighting back tears.

"Please be careful, son," Lilias said.

"Hurry now," Hendry said, "or you'll miss your ride."

Connor paused. "What ride?"

Hendry winked. "We finished the high lord's order late today, although we still had to send a few unfinished blocks to make the quota. The bargeman is having some trouble with the rudder. I expect he'll have it fixed soon. Hurry, and make sure no one sees you."

Connor hugged them again and headed out into the night, telling himself that his family was safe and he was embarking on a great adventure. It sounded better when he thought of it that way.

He silently thanked his father. He'd been more than a little worried about following the long road to Merkland alone through the night. This way, he'd arrive in Merkland by morning for sure.

As he slipped through town, careful to stay in the deepest shadows to remain unseen, a surge of excitement replaced the lingering sadness. He was really doing it, really leaving for Merkland. He'd explored the mountains for many miles, but hadn't ventured far downriver. The farmlands to the south weren't all that interesting, although he and Hamish often visited the hidden cave they had discovered three miles downriver. They'd often pretended to be bandits, with the cave their secret hideout. Tonight he'd journey far beyond everything familiar.

He reached the blocking yard unseen, and paused when he caught sight of the loch and the barge still tied to the pier.

Keith, the foreman, appeared out of the Powder House and shouted, "Stones take it, man, aren't you gone yet?"