The Traveller's Stone

by S J Howland

  The hobgoblin stared at him, his expression closed. ‘That is not your concern. It is a matter for goblin-kind, not you.’ His mouth snapped shut, and he stared forbiddingly into the distance.

  Xander swallowed. Clearly that line of questioning was not going to get him anywhere and, with a sudden remembrance of Len’s scepticism, he tried another.

  ‘I was just wondering,’ he said haltingly. ‘I don’t know why I’m here or why weird things keep happening to me, like yesterday. I thought maybe you might know something about it? I just want to know why.’ The last words came out more plaintively than Xander intended and he fell silent, his hands clutching the arms of his chair.

  The hobgoblin sat rigid, the only movement that of his fingers stroking the bundle in his lap. Suddenly his head slowly swivelled so he could look directly at Xander, examining him as if he were some strange kind of insect. There was a long pause, when all Xander could hear was the sound of his own breathing. Finally, the hobgoblin looked away with a sigh.

  ‘We do not have all the answers you seek, Xander King,’ he whispered. ‘Your story is not ours to know, we who have lost all but fragments of our own. What we have left warns us of an ancient foe, an eternal enemy who strikes without warning, a destroyer.’

  Leaning forward, the hobgoblin reached out and took Xander’s hand in his own, turning it in his cold fingers so that the palm was visible, then hovering his fingertips over the scar. He paused for a moment, lost in thought, and the room seemed to get darker and colder. Xander waited, eyes fixed on the old hobgoblin until he glanced up, a small smile flickering over his thin lips, and then continued.

  ‘The darkness has marked you here, where you met it and threw it back but that is not all. Our oldest traditions speak of the ancient blood which stood against the enemy once, to defy him. The trace of that blood is also here in you, down through all the ages. But is it enough? That we do not know.’ His dusty voice trailed away.

  A dozen questions jostled for room in Xander’s mind and he blurted out the first one.

  ‘What ancient blood? What does that mean?’

  ‘The ancient blood was once a shield for us, more than that we cannot recall,’ replied the hobgoblin. ‘I told you we have lost much, and are left with only the shattered pieces of our knowledge, our history. We have the memories to detect the bloodline when it returns, no more. The hand of the enemy has weighed heavily upon us, our fortunes have turned and we are diminished, almost gone.’ The hobgoblin spoke without emotion, his voice as dry as death.

  Xander swallowed. ‘Who is the enemy?’ he asked.

  ‘He has many faces but only one desire, to destroy and tear down. He does not sleep or relent in this thirst, and the powers of darkness are his to command.’ The hobgoblin’s strange eyes glittered again as he stared at Xander. ‘This is what we know of our enemy; perhaps you will learn more.’

  Xander had a very bad feeling about that. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the hobgoblin made a sharp gesture with his hand, cutting him off.

  ‘It is enough. We have no more answers for you, Xander King; you must walk your own path. However, tradition demands one more thing of us: something we have held since time immemorial, waiting.’

  The hobgoblin began to unwrap the bundle on his knee with exquisite care, and Xander’s eyes widened as the soft material was drawn away to reveal a silver band. It was strangely twisted and engraved, and set within it was a black jewel, glimmering in the dim light. Xander had seen many orbs since he had arrived in Haven, but none of them had looked like this. He swallowed as the hobgoblin held it out to him.

  ‘Um, the last time I touched an orb, it didn’t go too well,’ he said.

  There was a snort from behind him and Xander jumped. He had quite forgotten Hob, standing silently through all of this exchange.

  ‘Piece of rubbish, that was,’ Hob said contemptuously. ‘Thorne’s tat, far too weak to contain the power you are capable of commanding. This is hob-made, and it’s unique. This stone was passed down to us along with the old knowledge of how to prepare it, for when the blood returned again. It took many of our kind to craft it.’ His lip curled in disdain. ‘What you will do with it, of course, is another matter.’

  The old hobgoblin was still holding out the orb to Xander and, tentatively, he reached out and took it. The stone felt warm to Xander’s fingers and as he looked more closely, he saw tiny flickers deep within it, sparking like lightning as they burst up to the surface. It was mesmerising.

  Suddenly realising that both hobgoblins were watching him intently, Xander laid the band on his left wrist and fastened it, tensing a little despite Hob’s assurances, just in case history repeated itself. The orb didn’t show any signs of shooting out destructive beams of light, although for an instant he had felt a tingle in his left palm. He held up his hand and admired the glimmering stone. Strangely, it felt absolutely right, as though he had been missing something that had unexpectedly been restored to him.

  ‘Wow,’ he said, without thinking, turning it to admire the way the light chased along the silvery band.

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ whispered the old hobgoblin. ‘Try to use it well, Xander King.’ He stood up, staring coldly at Xander, who rose awkwardly to his feet at the brusque dismissal.

  ‘Thank you so much for this,’ he blurted, trying to express his gratitude for the beautiful orb.

  The old hobgoblin paused, with a sharp look at Xander.

  ‘We will be watching,’ was all he said, which sounded vaguely ominous, before disappearing through a small door that Xander had not noticed before. In the meantime, Hob had walked back over to his desk and sat down at his pile of stones. Xander looked at his bent head, which did not invite any further conversation, but he had one more question and he blurted it out before he lost the nerve.

  ‘What would have happened if I hadn’t come back here?’

  Hob didn’t even bother to look up. He picked up a large stone and began to examine it.

  ‘Then the conditions would not have been met,’ he grated out, and flicked his fingers at Xander in an obvious, if unsubtle, indication he should leave.

  A moment later, standing out in the warm sunshine, and even with the reassuring weight of the orb on his wrist, Xander still could not quite believe what had just happened. He held the orb up, staring at the beautiful band and the unusual black stone, and suddenly couldn’t wait to show Ollie and Len. Suppressing the urge to run, he pulled his sleeve down over the orb and turned left, heading for Fountain Square and the Academy steps.

  The square was busy, as always, with the usual collection of strange and unusual figures passing through. A giant, walking ahead of Xander past a large, pastel-flowering bush, sneezed violently and a cloud of fairies shot up from the bush, swirling in agitated circles in the air until they gradually began to descend back to the leafy branches. The giant looked very apologetic, grimacing repentantly at Xander and the other people nearby, while a couple of the tiny, winged figures drifted over to Xander. He picked up his pace, really not keen to find out whether they would settle on him as well.

  He hurried across the square, past the fountain in the centre, and dodged out of the way of a harried-looking little woman who was shepherding a small flock of shopping bags before her. Xander thought back to his astonishment of just a few days ago, when he had first seen this sight, and smiled again at how quickly the strangeness of Haven had become commonplace to him.

  Following Mrs Stanton’s previous instructions, Xander crossed over to stand at the foot of a broad set of stairs leading up to one of the massive, official-looking buildings that surrounded the square. From Ollie’s descriptions he knew that inside that building were not only classrooms, and halls but also gates, which carried the pupils off to the various Guild training locations for their apprenticeship options. Xander privately considered that, Ollie to the contrary, the Academy sounded like much better fun than his own schooling. The doors at the top of the steps were stil
l closed, but groups of adults, mainly women, were gathering along the bottom stair, and the sound of laughter and chat floated over to Xander as he stood there, his hands in his pockets, trying to look unobtrusive.

  A huge clock set atop the Academy chimed the hour and immediately all the doors along the base of the building burst open; within moments, the staircase was boiling over with pupils of all ages. Younger children were shepherded over to their waiting parents but most of the older ones rapidly dispersed, individually and in cheerful groups, although some stood in small gaggles on the steps, garnering annoyed looks as they blocked the way for others trying to get home. In all the noise and bustle Xander almost missed Ollie jogging forward, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He grinned when he caught sight of Xander and angled over to meet up with him. The flood of people leaving the Academy had lessened but there was still no sign of Len’s characteristic pale hair among the groups of girls coming down the steps. Xander did spot Katie, off on a play date and bouncing alongside another little girl of her own age, while the girl’s mother led them both away with an indulgent smile for their antics.

  ‘Planning on joining us after all?’ asked Ollie, with a wave of his hand towards the building behind them.

  Xander shook his head, with a wistful look. ‘Nah,’ he replied. ‘I was just in the area and thought I would come and meet you guys.’ He looked about with a frown. Most of the people had now gone, and the steps were almost empty. ‘Did we miss Len?’ he asked.

  Ollie grimaced.

  ‘Nope,’ he said. ‘She got put in detention again, over at the Halls.’ He gestured towards another beautiful building, with huge stained-glass windows, across the square and then glanced at Xander, seeing his interested expression. ‘Come on, we’ll pop over there and see how long till she gets out.’ He trotted down the rest of the steps and led the way.

  Xander fell in beside him. The orb still felt heavy and significant on his wrist but somehow he didn’t feel that the middle of Fountain Square was the right place to reveal it to Ollie. He examined the impressive building as they drew nearer.

  ‘What are the Halls?’ he asked.

  ‘The Halls of Records,’ corrected Ollie. ‘It’s a massive library, with lots of rooms in it, hence ‘Halls’. People do research there and a copy of pretty much every document in Haven is stored there somewhere. We’re not allowed into the parts with the oldest stuff, of course, but students can use the main part; that’s generally where they send people to do detention. You get Primilla Pennicott breathing down your neck and between her, the dust and the musty smell, it’s a pretty horrific punishment.’ Ollie shuddered expressively.

  That name rang a bell for Xander; he frowned a moment until he suddenly recalled the pinch-faced woman with the carping voice who had left the complaining message on the day he had arrived in Haven. The two boys walked together up the shallow, foot-worn steps leading up to the Halls. The wooden doors were enormous up close and were closed, looking like they had not been opened for a very long time, however within one of them was a much smaller door, standing open. It looked small by comparison but in fact, as Xander passed through, the top of it was high above his head.

  Inside the entrance was a dim reception hall lit by glowstone lamps, where old wooden-framed notice boards lined the bare stone walls, covered with various yellowing notices, timetables and announcements. There was also the distinctive, slightly stale smell of an ancient building and an over-powering silence, like a long-deserted church. Directly ahead of them was another set of large wooden doors.

  Ollie put his fingers to his lips. ‘Follow me and don’t speak. If we make a row, we’ll get thrown out and we don’t want to attract the old dragon.’

  Xander nodded to show he had heard, and Ollie turned the old brass doorknob, easing the big door open just a crack, enough to let the two boys squeeze in. While Ollie closed the door carefully behind them, Xander looked around the room curiously.

  It was massive, with a vaulted ceiling supported by many huge beams, all intricately carved. Hanging down from the high ceiling on lengthy chains were several chandeliers, filled with glittering white glowstones, while the enormous stained-glass windows that Xander had noticed from outside sent their soft, multi-coloured beams to paint the bookcases with jewelled light. The shelves along the back walls were set in tiers, rising almost up to the ceiling, with balconies to access them lined with wrought-iron railings and lit with ornate lamp-posts set at intervals along the galleries.

  More huge bookcases criss-crossed the central space, each with a carved wooden ladder to roll along it and allow the highest shelves to be accessed. Tables were tucked away throughout the space, large and small, which were evidently meant as workspaces for those who came here to study. Some of them were equipped with the same terminals that Xander had seen in the Stanton’s kitchen, with neat screens rising out of the surfaces. People were sitting at some of the tables, and others were standing, consulting books. There was no sign of Len anywhere.

  Ollie elbowed him gently in the ribs.

  ‘Keep your head down,’ he murmured, with a wary glance over his shoulder. ‘She’s on her perch. Come on, before she spots us.’

  Ollie ducked off to his right but Xander risked a quick glance before following. Behind him to his left was a raised dais with a high, imposing-looking desk set atop it, and sitting at the desk on a tall, spindly chair was a gaunt, sour-faced woman with a rabbity mouth. She appeared engrossed in a large, dusty catalogue but every moment or so, her pinched face rose and scanned the central aisles of the library, seeking anyone who dared to disturb the sanctity of her domain. She had not yet looked in their direction, and Xander bent his head and hurried after Ollie who was already vanishing behind one of the stacks.

  It took a little while for them to find Len, as the library was something of a labyrinth but eventually they ran her down in a little dusty nook by the golden stone wall, her pale head bent over a thick, leather-bound book. She was scribbling rapidly and, while one of the stained-glass windows decorated her table and the wall in cheerful patterns of coloured light, it did nothing to lighten her furious scowl. As Ollie and Xander turned the corner, she glanced up with a glower that disappeared as she recognised them.

  ‘Is this prisoner’s visiting hour?’ she asked with a quick grin, dropping her pen and flexing her fingers. Ollie slid into the seat opposite her while Xander leant against the wall, propped up on a handy stone ledge.

  ‘We’d break you out but I’m afraid there be dragons,’ Ollie replied, with a grimace over his shoulder in the vague direction of Primilla Pennicott’s platform. ‘What’s she got you doing this time?’

  Len shoved the decrepit old tome towards him across the table and Ollie flipped through some pages, wrinkling his nose at the dust that floated out.

  ‘Since I apparently have no respect for our heritage,’ she said, imitating Primilla’s carping voice, ‘I have to write out the lineage of the Founding Families, along with their terms of office on the Council. To call it a total waste of my life would be an understatement.’

  Ollie pulled a face in sympathy.

  ‘How long’s she got you for?’ he asked.

  ‘Until she feels I’ve suffered enough, which probably means forever,’ grumbled Len. Her eyebrows shot up as Xander lurched away from the wall and turned to stare at it in surprise. As he had been leaning back, a sudden bloom of warmth had flared against his hip and now little flashes of light were sputtering across a square of pale, smooth stone set in the wall, just above the little shelf. Xander backed away warily; the memory of the last time a stone tablet started unexpectedly flickering was only too vivid in his mind.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he asked, glancing at Ollie and Len. They both looked perplexed.

  ‘No idea,’ said Len. ‘I’ve never seen that before. I thought it was just part of the wall.’

  Ollie reached out a curious hand towards the little flickers on the stone and Xander hurriedly batted it to one side
. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said, in an incautiously loud voice. From the distance came the abrupt scrape of a chair.

  ‘Better get out of here,’ hissed Len, dragging the book back towards her. ‘You don’t want to get caught. I’ll catch up with you later at home.’

  The clack of high heels was rapidly approaching and both boys dived towards the thick stack of bookcases leading to the entranceway. In a final, quick glance over his shoulder, Xander saw that the stone in the wall had returned to its previous appearance, blank and worn.

  *

  By unspoken agreement, Ollie and Xander headed straight back to the Wykeham Gate. Ollie was frowning, obviously still thinking about the strange behaviour of the stone in the Halls but Xander had other things on his mind, in particular the new and unaccustomed weight on his wrist. One more weird stone flashing at him felt far less urgent than telling Ollie about what had happened in Hob’s shop and showing him the black orb, and Xander was eager to get back to Woodside as quickly as possible.

  The front door, as usual, was standing wide open and as they went in Xander was about to ask Ollie to come upstairs for a minute; he was distracted, however, by the truly appalling stench floating down the hallway. In Xander’s previous life he had been accustomed to the kitchen being the source of culinary tragedy and unspeakable smells, but since his arrival in Woodside he had adjusted to a new reality of fresh, homemade food and appetising aromas. This horrible odour and the blue haze that appeared to be accompanying it was therefore an unwelcome surprise. It did not appear to come as any shock to Ollie however, who pulled a face.

  ‘Not again,’ he muttered, and then marched down the hallway. Xander trailed behind him, trying to breathe as little as possible.

  The kitchen was filled with even more of the blue haze and the terrible smell was far more concentrated here. Ollie glared accusingly at the two indistinct figures bending over the stove, stirring the contents of a large pot.

  ‘You know that Mum is going to murder both of you,’ he said darkly. ‘She told you that you were only allowed to do that at the Institute because the stink kills her plants, not to mention all the rest of us.’