Set in Stone (2 page)

The parents shared a surprised look. "I hope the high lady and her child are safe," Lilias said as she cradled her baby tight and arranged him to try nursing.

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Hendry caressed her sweat-streaked face and gazed into her eyes. "I'm just glad you are."

An hour later they still waited. From the urgent footsteps that regularly passed their door, the situation with the high lady's birthing did not seem to be improving.

Finally Hendry stood. "Enough. Let's get this over with." He took the now-sleeping Connor and turned to face the row of stone cradles. After a deep breath, he marched across the room, his face determined.

The four cradles looked as different as the stones from which they were carved. Hendry approached the first, a crude thing made of a solid block of Alasdair White granite, the top chiseled down into a rough depression to hold a child. It was ugly and cold, perfectly suited to its onerous task. He frowned at the slipshod workmanship and his hands itched for his tools. He'd never seen a block of precious granite so ill-treated.

The next two cradles were little better. A much smaller cradle fashioned from dark basalt seemed to huddle beside the larger white granite block, while a shiny black obsidian cradle next to it glinted with reflected lantern light.

Hendry ignored the fourth cradle entirely and faced the blocky one of granite. No son of his would be first tested in anything but granite, no matter how rough the stone might be carved.

"Wait."

He turned at Lilias' voice. "It must be done, love."

"I know." She spoke calmly despite the worry lines wrinkling her forehead. "Put him in that one."

She pointed at the last cradle in the line, the one he had not even considered. Set apart from the others by workmanship more than space, it was fashioned into a beautifully sloped depression formed by six distinct stones, fitted together perfectly. The polished surfaces were lovingly carved, with colors merging so beautifully, it all but shouted aloud the blessed state of the highborn children who would be tested there, children like High Lady Elspet's imminent newborn.

"We can't, love."

"Why not?"

"You know why not." He glanced nervously at the door. "If anyone found out. . ."

"No one's coming any time soon." She cocked her head and added, "This way we only test him once. Do you really want to put our Connor, in those others?"

After another glance at the crude stone cradles, he sighed. "You're right."

He then moved to stand before the beautifully crafted one, slipped the swaddling blanket off the child and placed the infant onto the merciless stone. At the first shock of cold air, the baby began wailing. He shook his little arms and legs angrily and bellowed at the chill touch of the stone.

Then he stopped.

An ominous silence descended over the room. Hendry bent over the cradle, while Lilias sat up in the bed. The baby lay silent, his little hands and feet pressed down against the cold stone as if stuck there. His mouth opened, but he made no sound. His little body began to shake and every tiny muscle tensed until they all stood out clearly against his naked skin.

"Oh, no," Hendry whispered as his worst fears were realized in the tiny body of his son.

Connor began to swell. His body grew, as if he'd taken an impossibly huge breath of air, and the muscles of his limbs bulged to twice their normal size. He started to rock side to side, and the cradle began to rattle in time with his movements until it bounced against the wall. The movement spread to the other cradles and they thumped against the wall like caged beasts trying to escape.

Panic-stricken, Lilias stumbled up out of the bed. "Get him out of there!"

Hendry, who had stood rooted in place, reached for the baby, but flames exploded to life from the very stone of the cradle. He yelped and pulled back from the intense heat.

Lilias shouted with terror and tried to rush across the room. Her legs, still weak from the difficult labor, buckled, and she sprawled to the floor.

The flames disappeared as quickly as they had started, replaced by a fountain of water as thick around as Hendry's waist.

Now on hands and knees, Lilias gasped, "How can he make so much?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "That's not his water, love. It's the stone doing it."

A powerful gust of wind sprayed the water across the room over the parents, chilling them to the bone. Hendry pulled the baby into his arms as Lilias crawled toward them. For three heartbeats, silence reigned. Tiny Connor hung limp in his grasp, and the two of them shared a fearful look over his prostrate form.

Then he started to cry. They swaddled him quickly and Hendry helped Lilias return to the bed. She clutched Connor with shaking hands. Hendry hugged his family close, and for several minutes he stood tense, breathing fast, eyes clenched to hold back tears.

Lilias buried her face against his neck and whispered soft words until he slowly relaxed. "It's not your fault."

"It's my blood, love," he said, voice thick with emotion. “It's Cursed."

She sniffled and gave him a weak smile. "It's not all bad, dear one. If he's accepted, Guardians give important service."

"I won't risk it," he snarled. "They'll kill him at a whim." He released her and savagely wiped his eyes. "They won't have him, not yet. Not until he can face them as a man." He squeezed her shoulder, his face determined. "No one knows. We're leaving, right now."

Hours later, the midwife slowly entered the birthing room, her face drawn, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Tears shone in her eyes. She stared at the empty room for a couple seconds before realizing the family was gone, although several small coins lay on the blank page of the register.

She grunted and took up the coins of the birthing fee. She shouldn't be surprised at the lack of names. Most commoners couldn't write. Out of habit she glanced in the three crude stone cradles, but saw nothing of interest.

A gasp turned her around. She hadn't noticed the young apprentice enter behind her. The slender young woman stood before the cradle intended for highborn children, one hand at her mouth. The midwife frowned and stepped over to see. The sight struck like a blow to her stomach.

Indented in the very stones was a perfect outline of a baby's body.

"Impossible," she whispered.

"Where are they?" the young woman asked.

"Gone."

"What are their names?"

"I don't know."

"Where are they from?"

She only shook her head. She'd never seen anything like this, and lacked the emotional strength to grapple with the situation so soon after losing Lady Elspet's son.

"We have to tell someone," the young woman said.

"Tell someone what?"

They spun at the deep, cultured voice that spoke from the door behind them. High Lord Dougal stood there, his face lined with grief, but his intense blue eyes bored into them.

Without a word, the midwife gestured at the cradle. He crossed the room and, although he remained calm but for a widening of the eyes, he grabbed the midwife's shoulder and forced her to meet his gaze.

"Tell me all you know about this family. I must find that child!"

Chapter 1

Connor leaped out of bed and yanked on his hunting leathers. The dim light of dawn glowing through the one small window of the attic he shared with three of his four siblings showed the other beds already empty.

How could he have slept in so late? He'd be grouted if he didn't take something today.

His mother's voice called from downstairs, "Connor, where are you? Are you sick?"

"Coming!"

Couldn't she think of a different question, just once?

It didn't matter that the itching had already begun, a constant irritation just under the skin that already tugged at his resolve. Tomorrow, two days max, the Curse would strike hard.

Not today,
he vowed.

Today he felt strong, but the very thought it might strike tomorrow made him snarl into the shadows.

He almost landed on Lilias, his mother, as he slid down the ladder to the main floor. At almost sixteen, he stood tall enough to look down into her brilliant green eyes, but he couldn't avoid her warm hug.

"Mom, I'm late," he protested, but did not pull away. She gave the best hugs in the world. Still, he wasn't ten any more.

Unruffled, she pushed his sandy blond hair out of his face. "Eat before you leave."

His siblings clustered around the table, already eating the usual hot breakfast of porridge, eggs, and dried rabbit. Hendry, Connor's father, must have already left for the quarry.

As soon as Connor entered the room, four year-old Wallace shouted, "Connor, shoot me a pedra today!"

"You don't eat pedras," Roderick said, disgusted. At eight, he was an expert in everything.

"I want to fly it." Wallace sprayed porridge from his mouth as he talked, and Roderick gave him a dirty look.

Blair, his black hair already combed said, "Starting this late, I doubt Connor will shoot anything."

"Eat rocks," Connor punched his younger brother on the shoulder.

No way he'd come back empty handed. Not today.

He wolfed down a bowl of food, grabbed a chunk of yesterday's bread, and headed for the door. He belted on his hunting quiver and carefully checked his bow and string.

"Good luck, son." Although now holding baby Fiona on her hip, Lilias still managed to hug him again. She didn't have to voice the question he knew she was thinking.

"I'm fine, mom."

"Are you sure? It's been almost a week."

"I know. Hunting's been good."

Of course, that was all just build-up for today. Today's kill had to be something special.

She didn't need to know about the growing itch. If things worked out according to plan, he'd escape the next bout of crushing sickness. He'd know tomorrow.

Connor slipped out the door and jogged toward the town square of Alasdair. Their house stood at the southeast corner of town, at the end of a long, straight street of similar, if slightly smaller, homes set close to the river-facing wall. The houses here stood tall enough to enjoy the spectacular views of Alasdair valley.

The street was known as Wall Street, and was one of three main streets running parallel east to west through town. He passed a couple of smaller lanes to reach Merchant Street that ran through the center of town, straight between the two gates and the town square.

Men and women were already beginning preparations for the next day's festival. Several of them called to him and he waved but did not stop to field the inevitable questions about his health.

In the square, Cinaed, the foreman's wife, called out to him from where she monitored the setup of tables in what would be the cooking area for the feast. "Connor, what are you still doing in town?"

"Running late," he called cheerily and tried to hurry past.

She placed fists on hips and frowned. "This is no day for your sickness or laziness, young man."