Rain Of Stone (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 1)

by Lesley Woodral

  “What?” Brandon said.

  Without warning, Gerrick hit him in the stomach. He didn’t hit Brandon hard, but the boy hit the ground, his breath completely gone, and couldn’t make himself stand back up. Gerrick watched him, unsmiling. He stepped close and extended a hand. Brandon let his uncle help him up and waited. The older man spoke, his voice as hard as a marine drill instructor’s. “That’s one, Brandon. If I strike you three times, you’ll do twenty laps around the house.”

  Brandon didn’t have time to protest. He barely avoided a half-hearted strike at his head, ducking under it reflexively. “Good, good.” Gerrick said. “A good defense can give a man the opportunity to plan and organize his next attack. Watch for weakness in your opponent’s offense and exploit them.”

  So, they kept going. And Brandon did end up running his laps. Though, by that time, he was quite happy to be running and not to be getting his body tumbled and smacked around. Gerrick sat on the deck and watched the boy, pleased by their progress this night. He was a natural learner, Gerrick thought.

  Like his father.

  His eyes strayed to the bridge and the path that led into the forest. He wondered what Brandon and the girl had thought of the old bone yard during their little visit. He resisted an urge to stop Brandon and ask him about it. When the time came, Brandon would ask him.

  And the time was coming. Soon.

  Chapter 18

  The old graveyard was quiet in the still of the night. Sha’ha’Zel stood among the rock biers and felt the stirring of what, in a human, would be called anticipation. It was nearly time. Nearly time for the end of the boy. And the end of his long torment.

  He walked around the twisted wooden markers and stopped at the disturbed skeleton. The skull was shattered, but he knew to whom it belonged. This wasn’t the first time he had been in these woods. Just the first time in over 20 years.

  “You’re not looking so good, Thomas.” He squatted on his haunches and flicked at the remains with a finger tipped with a hooked claw. His black cloak hung loose around him, making him invisible in the shadows. Seeing in the inky blackness was one of his gifts. As was his ability to feel the boy, down by the house. The boy was running circles around HighGarden, exhausted to the point of collapse.

  The Curse had many gifts. He picked through the remains of Thomas Merryweather, sword arm of the Storm King and true uncle of the boy at HighGarden. Brandon was the nephew of three men and two women, all of whom were now dead. As were the boy’s many cousins. The Merryweather line once numbered in the hundreds, a large and prosperous house. But no longer.

  Now, all that remained was a single boy, who knew nothing of his ancient lineage. The Curse knew the truth, though. He knew all there was to know about the Merryweathers. He knew how the family had begun.

  And he knew how the family would end. He knew that, especially well.

  Sha’ha’Zel knew because he was that end, the end of the Merryweather name. He was the families curse, placed upon them by a man called Kardas. The Usurper. One who sought to be more than a king in a land where Gods fought and died.

  But Kardas no longer mattered. None of it mattered, anymore, except for the boy and the destiny that he could no longer outrun. It was twenty years since the last of the Merryweathers came to this wet and dreary world. Through a doorway in one of the lost Towers, hidden in the wastes. And the Curse followed, only to be so wounded by those few remaining to guard the way that he forgot who he was. Or why he existed. Sha’ha’Zel barely had the strength to hide from the deadly rain, but hide he did.

  It cost them their lives, but Thomas and his circle of nine bought their younger brother twenty years of peace. Time enough to start a family. To become soft and unafraid, in this world of automobiles and television. To forget where he came from, or what had followed.

  Time was one of the Curse’s greatest allies, as was the magic that kept him alive and bound him to his course. The magic protected the boy’s father, as well as Sha’ha’Zel’s weakness. The magic stayed his hand, when all he cared about was spilling Stephen Merryweather’s blood. But, after years of waiting, the magic finally gave him what he so desperately craved.

  The boy’s father was dead, now, the same as his brothers, and the last of the Merryweather line was alone, with only the last Knight of the Tower to protect him. A man with his own secrets. His own curse.

  Sha’ha’Zel picked through Thomas’s bones, choosing a sliver that was about the length of a grown man’s knuckle and slipping it into his mouth. Sucking on the bone, he stood and glanced at the rest of the graves.

  Morning would come soon and with it, the sun. His journey wound toward its inevitable end. He could feel it. When the boy was dead, he would receive his reward. He would cease to exist.

  Chapter 19

  “Mr. Merryweather?” Mr. Underhill said, his tone anything but amused. “Would you care to join the rest of us, sometime this afternoon?”

  Brandon jerked awake, sitting up at his desk, and everyone laughed. Everyone except for Claire, who was watching him with a worried expression. Mr. Underhill stood at the front of the classroom, watching Brandon with a tight smile. He held a piece of chalk in his right hand and his pointer in the left.

  “Sorry.” Brandon said, embarrassed. He sat straighter in his chair and glanced down at his open book.

  Mr. Underhill went on with the lesson, giving Brandon a sardonic smile as he spoke, and Claire turned back around in her seat.

  Brandon had been dreaming of battle again, once more riding inside the mind of The Storm King. His ancestor. It was a different battle this time and Brandon rode alongside Gerrick. This dream was murkier, darker, and Brandon couldn’t make out what they were fighting. Monsters, he thought. Definitely not human.

  The bell rang and Mr. Underhill dismissed the class. All except for Brandon, whom he asked to stay. Brandon stood by the teacher’s desk and waited for the class to empty. His legs felt like soggy French fries and were so sore he wanted to scream. But he didn’t scream. He yawned, instead, nearly creating a vacuum that could suck the windows out of their frames. Claire was the last to leave, giving Brandon a worried look as she passed him, and Underhill closed the door behind her. He went to his desk and sat down. “Is there anything going on that I need to know about, Bran?”

  Brandon stood in front of the desk, looking down at his teacher. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Underhill.”

  The teacher shrugged. “At home? Here at school? Is everything all right? You seem to be a bit distracted.” He gestured at the fading ark under Brandon’s eye. “And I doubt that came from falling down some stairs or walking into a door.”

  Brandon blinked at him. “I got into a fight with a couple of older kids, that’s all.”

  “Would they happen to have red hair and be brothers?” Underhill sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. The heavy lines and the hooked scar made him look like a hard man but Brandon had only ever received respect and kindness from him. “If the Kruegers are causing you any trouble, all you have to do is tell me, Bran.”

  “Just some older kids, sir.” Brandon squared his shoulders. “It isn’t anything I can’t handle.”

  “It’s not anything that you have to handle, Bran.” Underhill stood up and came around the desk to put a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. His face was very earnest. “All you’ve got to do is tell somebody. It doesn’t have to be me. You can tell Mr. Marcus. Or your uncle? I’m sure he saw your eye. Did he ask you about it?”

  “I told him like I told you, Mr. Underhill.” Brandon said, keeping his tone mild. “Just some kids, hazing me. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  Underhill nodded, lips pursed in thought. “I respect your fortitude, Bran, if not your reasoning. Just promise me, if it gets any worse, you’ll tell somebody.”

  Brandon shrugged, something he was getting good at, and smiled. “Sure. But I doubt it’ll happen again.”

  Claire was waiting for him out in the hall, face twisted with wo
rry. “So?” She said, as he closed the door behind him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Why are you walking like an old man? Did the Kruegers jump you again?”

  Brandon shook his head, not wanting to mention those ugly monsters, for fear they would pop up, like old Scratch every time his name was mentioned. “I started my training last night.”

  Claire blinked at him. “Training?” He told her, as she followed him to his locker. About the circle of flame and the night before. He didn’t mention his dreams or the Phoenix blade. He didn’t know why he held that part back, especially from Claire, but he felt it wasn’t time to mention that part of it, yet.

  Claire’s dad wasn’t picking her up and they walked home together. They didn’t go straight home. They went to the old mill. Climbing the ladder, Brandon thought of Claire, following him up, and wondered if she was looking at his behind.

  She was.

  Once on top, they sat talking for the next couple of hours. Brandon described his training and she listened, breaking in every once and a while with a question. “Did he really hit you?” Brandon nodded and she shook her head. “I don’t think you should tell anyone about this. About your uncle hitting you. Even though he’s teaching you how to defend yourself, it sounds like he’s pretty rough.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Brandon said, thinking of the night before.

  “Exactly.” Claire brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face and smiled at him. “I can’t stand the idea of anyone hurting you, even your uncle. But I understand why he’s doing it. But I don’t think anybody else would.”

  Brandon took a chance and leaned over, kissing Claire on the corner of her mouth. She blinked at him, her single emerald eye flashing beautifully in the reddish gold light of the setting sun, and smiled. She was wearing a violet patch today, with a border of daisies. She was beautiful. Brandon didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Using the first two fingers on her right hand, Claire touched Brandon’s chin and turned him toward her. She kissed him, at first chastely, and then with more passion. Brandon could hardly react, could hardly breath. When she pulled back, licking her lips and meeting his gaze, Brandon was smiling a big goofy grin. “Wow!”

  “Wow.” Claire said, laughing. “I think we need to get home, cowboy.”

  He left Claire on her front porch, kissing her one last time before leaving, and ran home in the dark. He didn’t see the Kruegers on his way home.

  He also didn’t see the piece of the night that followed him, slipping from shadow to shadow with an inhuman grace. The Curse followed the boy. He had no intention of doing the deed this night. There were rules. He couldn’t take the boy. Not yet. The magic wouldn’t allow it. Not until certain requirements were met. The boy’s uncle was taking care of part of it, for his own reasons. The girl looked to be taking care of the other part, though she didn’t know it.

  There was one other thing the boy must do, before he could be taken from the ranks of the living. The Curse would see to it that everything went as it should. Until then, he followed the boy, taking great care not to be seen or felt by the last Storm King.

  Chapter 20

  Brandon was in line at the cafeteria, waiting to get his cold tuna fish sandwich and milk, when Luke Krueger spoke from just behind him.

  “Looks like the gay boy got himself a girlfriend.” Luke said, with a snort. His nose was covered in a white bandage, taped in place, making his voice nasal and squeaky. “Picked yourself a good one, pretty boy.”

  “Yeah.” Perry laughed. “The faggot and the Cyclops, sitting in a tree. Hey, if you get bored, you can always stick it in her empty eye socket.”

  Brandon spun around and shoved Luke with all his might, surprised when the big boy stumbled backwards and crashed into his brother. As shocked as Brandon was, he wasn’t nearly as surprised as Luke was. Luke and Perry stared at Brandon with eyes the size of saucer cups. The entire cafeteria was silent. You could hear a pin drop. Everyone was shocked, even the teachers.

  The shocked look dropped away from Luke’s face. Now he wore a smile. It was the sick smile of a wild boar hearing the dinner bell. Made even uglier by the bandage on his nose. Perry’s face was peculiar, all screwed up as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. When he spoke, his voice was hushed. “Are you insane, kid? You do remember what we did to you the other day, don’t you? Now sit down, apologize, and we might not stomp a mud hole in your crazy ass.”

  “Yeah.” Luke said, stepping toward Brandon. “Before you get hurt.”

  Brandon didn’t move. He spoke slowly and carefully. “Who says I’ll be the one getting hurt, fat ass?”

  That did it. Luke, being the closer and the dumber of the two, rushed Brandon, taking a giant swing at Brandon’s head. Perry tried to stop him, but not in time.

  Everything else happened too fast for anybody, except for Brandon, to react to. After a long night of trying to dodge his uncle’s lightning fast punches, Brandon was able to duck under Luke’s lumbering roundhouse with ease. He could have counted the hairs on Luke’s knuckles. The big boy stumbled as his fist connected with air and turned almost a complete circle before catching Brandon’s fist in his throat. Gagging, Luke clutched at his throat and hit the floor.

  Perry, quicker than his brother, lashed out and tried to catch a hold of Brandon’s shirt. He snagged it and tried to pull Brandon around into his fist. Brandon let him, twisting his head, and let Perry’s fist whistle past his ear before snapping his elbow up, smashing it into Perry’s face. The boy’s nose shattered, spraying blood, and he screamed.

  Brandon felt a moment of perverse pleasure. That was the second nose he’d broken in as many days.

  The fight was over in less than 25 seconds. It took another 30 seconds before anybody in the cafeteria moved. Everybody stared, some with their food still halfway to their mouths. It was like something in a movie. One second, it looked like Brandon was in for a monstrous beating. The next, both Kruegers are bleeding and Brandon is the last man standing. Luke lay on the floor, coughing and trying to catch his breath. Perry clutched his gushing nose, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  The nurse happened to be in the cafeteria, eating with the few teachers there. After the fight was over and everybody unfroze, she came hustling over. She was a pretty young woman, about 25, named Mrs. Freeman. She went to Brandon first, making sure he was okay, before turning to the Krueger boys. “You two boys have sent so many kids to me, I feel like I owe you taxes, or something. It’s about time somebody taught you two some manners.” She gave Brandon an approving nod before getting a firm grip on the twin’s elbows and leading them away. Brandon was left standing there, still in line for his sandwich, unsure of what to do next.

  Suddenly, Claire was at his side, saving him. She walked with him as he got his food and went to sit down, her hand on his arm. When they were seated, she leaned close. “I guess your uncle did teach you some things?”

  Brandon blinked, looked over at her, and smiled, nervously. He felt like throwing up. “I guess I’m a fast learner.”

  “I guess so.” Claire put her hand over his. He met her eye and shook his head, not knowing what else to say. She smiled. “Maybe you could teach me some of that stuff, sometime?”

  Brandon laughed. “You sure you’re up to it? It’s pretty rough stuff.”

  “I’m up to anything.” She said, winking her pretty green eye at him and laughing. Brandon smiled and took a bite of his tuna sandwich. This was the weirdest day of his life. And, he didn’t know it yet, it was going to get a whole lot weirder.

  The last three periods of the day went by at a snail’s pace. School had never taken so long. And, through it all, Brandon felt a growing sense of unease. His stomach felt as if something was trying to climb out of it. What was going on?

  During last period, Brandon couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking to the clock, counting the seconds. The feeling that something momentous was about to happen to him grew. Claire watched him, having realized someth
ing was wrong with him.

  Time continued to eek by at its funky, slow pace, until five minutes before the final bell, when the PA system crackled to life and Mr. Marcus’s voice began issuing forth, like the voice of God. “Brandon Merryweather, please come to the principal’s office. Brandon Merryweather come to the principal’s office.”

  Mr. Underhill looked at Brandon, stopping his lecture about the Lincoln assassination. “Go ahead, Bran.” Brandon gathered his books and headed out. Underhill went to the door with him, stopping him in the hall to say. “Don’t worry too much about it, son. If it were up to most of us, you’d be getting a medal. That includes Marcus.” He gave Brandon a pat on the shoulder and shut the door.

  Brandon hurried to the office, not wanting to be in the hall when the bell rang. The receptionist gave him a tight-lipped smile, sending him straight into Mr. Marcus’s office.

  The bell rang as he stepped into the small room, feeling like all this had happened once before. Mr. Marcus sat behind his desk. He looked up as Brandon entered. He wasn’t smiling. “Sit down, Bran.”

  Chapter 21

  Claire was up and out of the classroom before the bell had stopped ringing. She pushed through the hall, unmindful of the looks she got from the kids she shoved past, and made her way quickly to the front office.

  Albert stopped her before she could go through the office door. “Hey, Claire!” He was carrying an armful of books, his hair hanging down into his eyes. Shifting the books around, he used a free hand to push the hair from his face. “Are you looking for Bran?”

  She paused with her hand on the door. She could see the receptionist sitting at the main counter. The door to Principal Marcus’s office was closed. She looked down at Albert and said. “Yeah. He got called to the office.”