Romney Balvance and the Katarin Stone

by J Jordan

  But the winner of most miserable went to Victoria. She sat in the passenger seat, watching with a pained expression as the APC rolled over hallowed trails. Every now and then, she would mutter her inner turmoil aloud, which seemed to only worsen Tykeso’s mood.

  “We should be walking this path barefooted.”

  “My grandmother made that trail marker. And there it goes under the wheels.”

  “The Prophet Andrea stopped here. She thought she would die on this mountain, cold and alone, washed away by the snowdrifts. But la Diosa saw greatness in her and gave her the flame to go on. We are in a tank.”

  “The peak is up ahead. We would have made better time on foot.”

  They passed through an opening between two great spires of rock and then down into a forest. The smell of pine oozed into the vehicle, heavy with morning fog. Romney opened a view port and looked through the narrow opening. The sunlight filtered through trees and around them, turning the clouds of fog into plumes of golden cotton. He took in another lungful of sweet pine air. The effect was both relaxing and invigorating. Each breath seemed to unravel the many knots in his shoulders and soothe the dull aches in his back and neck, lifting the weight on his eyelids. He felt at peace for once in a long time. There was no place like this in Lanvale. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been somewhere so relaxing. Romney leaned against the wall and watched as the scene unfolded in his view port. He enjoyed this moment of cool air and golden light. He didn’t even mind knocking his head against the wall again. He would remember it as one of the truly magical moments in his life.

  Cora was watching from the opposite side. She pressed her face through the small view port, took in a deep breath of fresh air, and exhaled it in a sigh.

  “Majestic,” she said.

  “Very pretty,” added Romney.

  “Peaceful,” said Tykeso from the driver’s seat. The view had improved his mood considerably.

  “A place for reflection,” said Victoria. “A place to feel close to la Diosa.”

  “Contact.”

  The sound of Lorna’s machine gun sounded far off, as if wrapped in a blanket, even though they were sitting mere feet from it. Lorna let off two more bursts into the eastern tree line before she withdrew and closed the porthole. She looked disappointed.

  “Nothing. Probably scared it off. There’s a clearing five clicks to the north. We’re headed right for it.”

  “The Water Mirror,” said Victoria. “We’re almost there.”

  They drove on in silence, everyone enjoying the calm and peace. Except for Lorna.

  Before long, the trees thinned out until they ceased entirely. They had come to the clearing, a lake as calm as glass. The APC came to a stop at the shore, and its occupants peered out through the front window. The glassy surface stretched on in either direction, ending northward at another clearing. In the clearing on the distant shore, they could just make out a small stone structure. Romney recognized it. But, somehow, he remembered it being a little bigger in his dream. Victoria climbed out of the APC and headed for three overturned boats on the beach. The group followed her and helped her lift one of the small vessels out of the sand. Together, they eased it into the water. The group, minus Lorna.

  “What are you doing?”

  Lorna was shouting from the turret of the APC.

  “We must travel by boat,” said Victoria. “Custom dictates that we go one at a time across the Water Mirror, but each boat should hold two.”

  Lorna grinned. She slapped the APC.

  “This baby can take all of us. It’s amphibious.”

  Victoria glared. A deep anger flashed in her eyes, but her voice was calm.

  “No. We’ve broken every custom on the way here. The spirits have endured every slight on the way. They cannot endure any more. We must take the boats.”

  “Sorry, kiddo, but I’m not sacrificing a tactical advantage to please a bunch of ghouls. Everybody in.”

  “Look,” said Cora, “I am all for following traditions and for keeping ritual practices. But I agree with Lorna on this one. We are better protected in the APC. What if they come back with reinforcements?”

  “I am going by boat,” snapped Victoria. “We have already done enough harm.”

  Cora frowned at her, then turned and walked back to the APC. Tykeso helped Victoria lowered the second boat into the water, and then followed Cora.

  “I would,” he said over his shoulder, “but I’m the only one who can drive.”

  Victoria wasn’t listening. She pulled the oars out from the bottom of the boat and into the water. Then she took her seat in the boat. Romney was already seated across from her.

  “I’m with you on this one,” he said.

  Victoria nodded, then took an oar and pushed off. The boat scraped along the bottom, then gained its buoyancy in the deeper waters. With clean, practiced strokes, Victoria began the journey across the Water Mirror.

  “I can take over rowing if you need me to,” he said, “unless it’s against the rules.”

  Victoria didn’t answer. She had found a rhythm.

  With a loud pop, the APC gained a large flotation device like a desert-camo donut. The APC roared into the water, tipping into the clear lake like a mil-green whale, it’s diesel engine a muted siren’s call for military surplus nuts everywhere. It sank as it reached the deeper waters, then righted as the back tires left the lake floor. Two large jets burbled on the rear of the vehicle and, with another roar, the APC lurched onward. Victoria kept pace with it for an entire meter, before it pulled ahead, and then left them behind. The vehicle would have left them in its wake, except that it didn’t make one.

  Romney watched the APC carefully as it passed. There was something missing. Romney had spent enough of his time on lakes and in boats, and he understood the general idea of how they were supposed to work together. Where was the wake? The water was perfectly still as the APC burbled past. And it left nothing behind as it moved on into the distance, not even a ripple. Romney looked to Victoria. As she dipped her oars into the water, the surface didn’t move.

  Romney watched her motion intently now. Perhaps he had missed something. Victoria drew the oars beneath the water, raised them out, reset, dipped, pulled, raised, reset. And with each stroke, the water was completely still. Romney craned his head over the side. His reflection was unmarred, even as Victoria dipped an oar into his cheek. Victoria was beginning to lose her form.

  “Please sit down,” she said, in between pulls.

  “Sorry,” said Romney, “I just couldn’t help notice the water.”

  Victoria had lost the rhythm. Her face scrunched with the next pull, and the following reset was lopsided. She paused with oars in the water, to take several breaths. The trade-off was going to happen soon, so Romney motioned for the oars. She handed them over without a word. Romney set the oars in place.

  “I can take over again later,” she said. “We aren’t even halfway across.”

  “No need.”

  “Do you know how to row? You put the oars in the water behind you.”

  “I know,” he said with a grin. “It’s one of the few things I know how to do.”

  His motion was fluid, the pull clean, the next dip nicely placed, not too shallow and not too deep. He made another stroke, then paused to remove his jacket. Victoria folded it neatly and stowed it under her seat.

  Romney couldn’t feel the tremble of magical influence here, but it had to be magic. The Water Mirror didn’t have the same drag that a normal lake would. The motion of rowing in this water was lighter. It was as if he were practicing the motion in the air.

  “Impressive,” said Victoria. “You make it look easy.”

  “It’s not as hard as it looks. This isn’t your average lake.”

  He looked back at her to see if she was grinning. Victoria looked concerned.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s not like rowing on a normal lake. There’s hardly any resistance.”r />
  He dipped the oars into the water and the surface was still.

  “Also, that.”

  “The Water Mirror is a wondrous mystery,” said Victoria. “Perhaps they have welcomed you.”

  Romney stopped and turned in his seat to face her. The motion caused the boat to sway. Victoria leaned away, her eyes fixed on him. Her hands gripped the sides of the boat, trying in vain to keep it level.

  “Please don’t rock the boat.”

  “This is magic, isn’t it? Do you think this is magic?”

  “I don’t know. We aren’t supposed to focus on these things. Hirna Andrea is a place for reflection and introspection. We bring questions from the outside world, to find the answers here. We aren’t meant to ponder why the waters are still. We must be focused on our questions, so that we may understand them clearly before we ask.”

  Romney decided not to push the matter any further. He returned the oars to the water and began to row. Victoria sighed.

  “It is strange to come here when the world outside is hurting,” she said. “Stepping on every tradition along the way, showing irreverence to such a beautiful place.”

  Romney had no response to this beyond, “Sorry for all the sacrilege.” And he knew that she probably didn’t want to hear that. Beyond her, he could see the gray stone of Hirna Andrea looming in the distance. The temple was still a long ways out, atop a small hill maybe one mile high. It was difficult to tell from this far away. He could see the APC approaching the shore. Victoria was turned to face it.

  “We usually stop midway across to give a prayer of thanks to Katresa. I don’t see the point of it now.”

  Romney stopped rowing. He raised the oars and laid them across his lap.

  “Well,” he said, “we did cause a pretty big scene getting this far. Maybe we should stop to thank her.”

  The APC had crawled onto the shore. They could wait another minute. Victoria smiled at Romney, then bowed her head and closed her eyes. Romney followed along. He didn’t know any Katarin prayers and, frankly, he had already had enough Katrese to last him a lifetime. But as he sat in the still lake and breathed the crisp air, he began to feel at peace.

  The air seemed almost to hang over his head like a cooling veil. It brought him back to his childhood, when he buried his head beneath the covers on cold mornings. Under the veil, he was protected from monsters and school buses. He was safe there, drifting slowly along the Water Mirror, with the cool morning air and the soft muttering of Victoria’s prayer. It was the closest thing Romney had known to serenity, to being totally calm. He listened to the silence. And in the cool veil, he heard it. The soft ticking.

  Romney would try many times to put it to words throughout his life. And after many failed attempts, he would settle on this:

  It was as if he had seen the clock, on the wall from afar, and his entire life was spent watching it. But for the first time, he had finally been given the chance to approach the clock, to take it off the wall and place it to his ear. His entire life had hinged on its being. Every class, every homework assignment, every interview and workday and business meeting, every paycheck, every vacation. Every moment he had ever lived relied on that clock. And now he could listen to it. It was not a droning wail, but a soft clicking. There was a relief to that, in knowing that it couldn’t scare him with its roar or charge after him. It tapped lightly, almost like a finger on his shoulder.

  The world was softly ticking, in the form of a light breeze and the gentle swaying of trees, of small birds taking flight and the calm waters below. And it all fit so beautifully together. Every drop of water and breath of air, every person and animal and rock, everything meshed together into that singular moving piece. Romney smiled at it, the soft sounds of the complex world, a ticking of the myriad parts and pieces. And in that silly little musing, he felt lighter. He took in another breath of chilled air. He knew what he needed to do. He had to protect it.

  No one could ever pay him enough to break that precious machine.

  A deep, concussive sound broke the silence. Romney started and wheeled around to see the source, nearly tipping the boat in the process. Victoria clutched the sides again and then looked over her shoulder.

  “Diosa mia, what was that?”

  Romney flinched as he heard another loud thump. This one was followed by a long pause.

  “No idea,” said Romney, “but maybe we should start rowing.”

  “I can take a turn, if you’d like.”

  “No,” said Romney, “Allow me. Reminds me of better times, I guess.”

  He made a stroke, then flinched again as several loud pops echoed from the shore. He turned to see the small flashes of gunfire from the APC.

  “Who is doing that?” said Victoria, watching the shore. “Are they shooting into the Water Mirror?”

  Judging by her tone, Romney decided she wouldn’t like the answer. He began rowing faster.

  This was the scene they came upon as they approached the shore. The APC was parked parallel to the shore and Lorna was sitting on the turret, leaning on the port and watching Cora and Tykeso. The two associates were standing at the shoreline mere inches from the water, pointing at the glassy surface, and yelling at each other. Romney knew where the conversation had likely started, and where it would probably end, before he could even begin to make out the words. He caught the middle of it as he helped Victoria pull their boat ashore.

  “The lake is viscous. Why are you not listening to me? There is a buildup of minerals along the floor of the lake. Those minerals are mixing with and changing the makeup of the water.”

  “There would be some movement or we would be driving along the top of it."

  “Another demonstration?”

  They both turned to Lorna, whose finger was already in Joyce’s trigger guard.

  “No,” said Tykeso.

  “Please stay out of this,” said Cora. “I’m trying to explain to my friend here that there is a dormant volcano underneath the lake, distributing vast amounts of heat and minerals into the water.”

  “Heat would excite the molecules and make it thinner,” said Tykeso.

  “Unless the heat was a catalyst, breaking down the molecules and recombining them,” said Cora, “thus changing the chemical makeup of the water, ergo changing its physical properties.”

  “Don’t say ergo. It makes you sound pedantic.”

  “So, now we’re into personal attacks. I’m sure glad you kept this civil, Ty.”

  “You took the first swipe,” said Tykeso, with an admonishing finger wag. “You’ve been talking down to me this whole time, despite my observing the physical evidence before me.”

  “Without using any kind of scientific knowledge! You’re being a child.”

  “We need another demonstration.”

  Joyce, the machine gun, was much louder here. Romney covered his ears in time to only lose part of his hearing. Tykeso’s yelling was the first thing to come in clear after the droning.

  “See? See? It did not move. The surface of the water would ripple as the bullets enter the water or they would ricochet off the surface. Either outcome would produce motion on the surface. They wouldn’t be able to row a boat through a viscous lake. Observation and science.”

  “It’s mineral buildup and heat, Tykeso. The bullets are passing through the surface to the floor. This is not magic!”

  “Another demonstration?”

  “No!”

  Romney decided to step into the argument, but he could already see that neither was ready to back down.

  “What’s going on?”

  Cora reared on him, her face flush and scrunched into a wicked glare. It was a magnitude-seven glare, he decided, on the official Queldin scale he had just made up. Enraged, but still manageable.

  “Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

  “I just wanted to know what you guys are yelling about.”

  “You know. And you’re going to side with him and say the water is magical. Don’t.”
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br />   “I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Romney. He looked to Tykeso, as if to say he should probably just give this one up.

  “No,” she said, “you don’t get off that easy. I know what you’re thinking, with your narcolepsy and your night terrors and those outrageous fevers. You think this place is magical. And you think we’re going to find enchanted artifacts from a forgotten civilization that lived off imaginary forces. Is that it? Is that why you dragged us into the desert, through a military installation, and up a mountain, to the single most sacred place in all of Andar? Is that what we’ve been doing this whole time? Chasing magic?”

  Romney shrugged. He knew they were searching for the Crown of Videra, and he knew why, to add another piece to Devon Reymus’s growing collection. And he knew they were going to receive another tremendous sum of money for it. He had forgotten why he cared so much. Cora was now jabbing him in the chest with her pointer finger.

  “Don’t shrug, you idiot. That is exactly why we’re here.”

  “No, not anymore.”

  Romney looked at her and, for the first time, he met her glare with his own. Her accusatory finger retreated.

  “Magic or not, there is a real piece of history in there,” said Romney, “and it’s in trouble. The corrupt Andaran government can’t get their hands on it and Devon can’t have it either. It’s up to us to find it and keep it safe.”

  “Who is Devon?”

  Cora turned to see Victoria for the first time. Tykeso turned to his usual stone-faced expression, which had become his giveaway. Romney sighed. He wasn’t sure how they had gotten this far or how they expected to get away without her learning something. It wasn’t right to continue the lie.