Into the Stone Land

by Robert Stanek

  A distant whisper from another time spoke to him. “Find control, Tall. Focus, live.” As ever, these were the smoot’s words. As the eldest in the village, the smoot knew all and saw all. He carried word of lore and law. He prepared boys to become men. He spoke for the great tree and the great tree spoke with his voice.

  “Focus, live,” Tall repeated to himself. He touched the back of his hand to his own forehead, found that he was burning with fever as well. He checked his wounds. The mud caking his calf had dried, sealing the cuts and gashes beneath.

  Keene wasn’t so fortunate. His shoulder wasn’t his only deep wound. He had others which still bled, and no doubt they were the reason for his current state. Tall tried to stand, found he couldn’t put his weight on his bad leg even with his staff as an aid. He crawled to his pack, pulled free the container attached to the bottom and wrapped the container’s cord around his neck. He made his way to the wet using his arms and good leg, dragging his right leg behind.

  He filled the container, made his way back to Keene’s side. He washed the other’s wounds before caking them with mud. This time he ensured that he spread the mud in thick layers, waiting each time for the bleeding to stop, as Keene had done for him.

  A deep growl from his belly reminded him of how hungry he was. He crawled to his pack, undid the top, and took out several long, dark roots. He chewed small pieces of the root but did not swallow. Instead he spit the chewed root into his hand and fed this to Keene, using the container’s contents to help Keene wash down the root. The process was long and slow and enough to lull him to sleep. He awoke to find the mid-day sun overhead, but it wasn’t the sun that awoke him—it was the sound of nestlings hatching that did.

  Crawling over to the nest at the far side of the residence, he found the dead queen draped over the nest. The queen had given the nestlings the final warmth needed to hatch, but without the queen and the bull the nestlings would die. Tall knew this, and yet he vowed to save them all—as he also vowed to save Keene. With his hands, he ripped open the queen’s belly and helped the nestlings feed on the queen’s own flesh. The guilt of the deed would gnaw at him later, much as the nestlings would soon gnaw upon their mother.

  The glowing ball of the sun reflected across the surface of the deep pool caught Tall’s eye. He stared out at the great beyond and a breath caught in his throat as his gaze found the three massive arbors and the large pools they shaded. Although the gnarled and twisted trunks and branches of the arbors dominated the horizon, the long roots stretching into the deep were what Tall studied. The rounds and hollows made by the roots were filled with nests, and those nests were guarded by queens whose bulls were sunning nearby. It was a sight he had scarcely dared hope to see, and seeing it now he knew the stories told during festivals around the village fire did not do it justice.

  Across the waters he saw a towering structure with a domed roof and spire that none of the stories spoke of. Though it looked as ancient as the trees and showed no signs of decay, it did not belong in this sacred site, and he wondered about those who made such a thing in such a place. Did they not understand the power and magic of the place? It was lost and deep for a reason and it was not meant to be looked upon by the unworthy. One was meant to sweat and to bleed, if necessary, to reach the deep. The journey was as important as the destination itself, and that was something Tall was certain the builders of the monstrous tower and wall did not understand.

  The tower was a desecration. The wall, a blight. He spat and shook a fist in the air. Angry, he made his way back to Keene, using his arms and mostly dragging his legs. He chewed light root for Keene before eating some of the root himself. By mid-day, he found he was unable to keep his eyes open and so he slept. He awoke near dusk, weak and feverish. He used what remained of the light to prepare for the night, filling his container in the deep pool, spreading the stinging, and seeing to Keene’s needs, though Keene so far had not regained consciousness. As the twilight faded, he applied the gritty to help mask his man scent from all that flew, crawled, hopped, and walked. The last of the gritty he applied to what little of Keene’s face wasn’t covered in mud.

  The night was long and cool, and Tall awoke shivering just as the moon was rising. By moonlight, he checked his surroundings to ensure no manner of beast was lurking in wait for him as he dragged himself down to the edge of the pool. He used the thick, moist mud to cake his scrapes and wounds before filling his container and drinking deeply. As he gulped down something thick and slimy with the wet, he started gagging and choking.

  Reaching in with his fingers, he gripped the plump sucker and ripped it out of his mouth before it could attach its rows of tiny, sharp teeth. The repulsive creature thrashed about between his fingers as he flung it out into the pool.

  “Only fools drink what they cannot see,” a soft voice told him.

  Tall wished his hand gripped his staff and not mud as he spun around on his backside. The mud made his turn easy, but his hands balled into fists found only empty air. He quieted his breathing, focused on the darkness.

  The night was still. Except for a few infrequent croaks, the bulls and their queens were quiet. He heard a swarm of buzzers not far off but paid them little attention. Mud and gritty protected him from them.

  Feeling certain he was alone and only hearing things, Tall made his way back to Keene’s side. Foolishly, he dragged himself straight through his protective circle. The touch of the stinging brought instant fire to the exposed areas of his flesh. He winced and moaned and shivered all at once. The one aid was to cover the affected areas with mud and he did so, applying the mud liberally.

  Sleep found him sometime later and so did fever. Some hours later he sensed the arrival of dawn. He did not greet the day, however, for it seemed to him that he had only just lain down. It took a full day’s sun and the arrival of buzzers to get him to stir.

  Keene had turned over and the swarm was feasting on his exposed back. Tall set upon them with his staff, spinning the long stretch of arbor in his hand and striking out into the heart of the swarm. Angry, he began shouting as he jabbed and thrust. The ends of the staff stabbed, exploding in and through the blood-filled creatures. The long edge struck and batted buzzers up and away. Some landed far out in the pool; others deep in the weed-grass.

  The heavy scent of blood brought a new swarm. As nothing could mask so close a man scent amidst a feeding frenzy, many of these set upon Tall, and for a time it was all he could do to keep them away. When he finally broke the swarm with his staff and turned back to Keene he was greeted by a most bizarre sight. Hatchlings were everywhere, crawling over the ground and Keene as they fed on buzzers. They seemed to be protecting Keene, but more likely their bellies were empty and the bloated, blood-filled buzzers seemed easy meals.

  It was only as the swarms scattered that Tall realized he was standing. Staff in hand, he turned toward the deep pool where a pair of bulls were battling over mating rights. Not far off a queen watched, waiting to see which would be the victor. Tall could not tell which was the dominant and which the challenger, but he enjoyed watching the display against the backdrop of the setting sun.

  Morning brought with it renewed hope and heavy rain. Though Keene’s conditioned had not improved, Tall’s had. He felt stronger and found he could walk short distances with the aid of his staff. Between breaks in the rain, he foraged. Bitter-sweet grew in abundance on the house. He feasted on the wiry bush’s silvery green leaves and slender branches over the next few days while he regained his strength. Soon he was foraging farther and farther away and jumping between residences with increasing ease. Now when he washed away mud caking his wounds, he found scabs turning to red-etched scars.

  Keene wasn’t as fortunate. His wounds festered and a putrid stench told Tall the flesh was dying or already dead. Tall could no longer get the other boy to eat, though he did drink on occasion. It seemed each time Tall checked Keene, the boy was paler and thinner. Thoughts of Keene’s approaching death terrified Tall. Not onl
y because he didn’t know the rituals to help see his friend into and through the afterlife, but because Keene’s death was also the death of hope.

  His stomach bunched in knots, despair overwhelmed him. He curled into a ball at the other boy’s feet. Deep sobs followed tears. His body shook; he convulsed and screamed out. The pain was just too real.

  Return of the hatchlings pulled Tall out of his dark mood. They were hungry and he helped them feed by luring black suckers with drops of his own blood. The hatchlings snatched suckers up in their jaws as soon as they surfaced from the depths of the mud, often fighting over the long, juicy bits as they shredded the suckers with their teeth. Hungry himself, he was returning to get roots from his pack when he heard Keene’s faint voice calling out to him.

  “Tall, Tall,” Keene said, his voice scarcely a whisper. “The wounds, suckers. They’ll eat the poisoned flesh.”

  “Suckers?” Tall asked, but the other boy had already slipped back into a heavy sleep.

  Tall grabbed his container, drank down its contents before returning to the edge of the deep pool. He pricked his finger, squeezed to draw blood by the drop so that it fell to the mud. Suckers surfaced with the first drop, rippling at first beneath the mud and then rising to show their black, slippery forms. He plucked up suckers one by one and thrust them into the container. Something about the feel of them wriggling and squirming between his fingers made his stomach churn. This feeling doubled when he squatted down beside Keene and put the nasty, slimy creatures to Keene’s rotting flesh.

  In the still day, he thought he heard their tiny rows of teeth raking and attaching, but that was nothing compared to what he thought was the soft hum of their rending and chewing. It was enough to make the bile rise at the back of his throat. When he couldn’t stand the thought of it any more, he ran to the deep pool and plunged in. It was a mistake, but by the time he realized this, he was already breaking the surface after his dive.

  Bulls dove into the pool as if someone had rung the village banquet bell. He swam for the shore, had only gone a few strokes when he felt something slip past his leg. Instinctively, he curled into a ball, flipped and dove in the opposite direction. He knew his end waited for him when he came up through a tangle of bulls. It was only a matter of which would claim him first.

  Taking a deep breath, certain one of the bulls would latch onto him, he waited to be pulled to the bottom of the pool. Lessons from the elders spun through his mind. A moment would come when the bull would loosen his grip. That would be his chance to make a break for the surface. If he could reach the surface, he could reach the shore and there he would be safe. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Swim.

  His eyes searched the shore. His residence was to his right. He swam for it. He reached the shallows, broke into a run, and didn’t stop until he was standing over Keene. “Don’t die on me,” he told the other between gasps. Keene was in no shape to reply, but Tall felt certain the other could hear him, and so he continued. “I don’t think I could endure if you did. We were as brothers in the village and we will be as brothers in exile.”

  The hatchlings had followed Tall from the pool and so when he turned around, they were waiting with their heads raised to greet him. They were what he felt in the pool, but he only just realized this as he saw their tracks leading from the pool alongside his own.

  Chapter 3: Unexpected Company

  Tall awoke to the sounds of his own screams. In his dreams, he was covered in slithers and they were starting to swallow and devour him. Such dark dreams were ill omens and he feared the worst when he checked Keene, but he found the other boy was in much the same state as the previous day.

  Feeling less gloomy, he set himself to the tasks that were becoming his morning routine: filling the container, chewing roots for Keene to eat, and then eating himself. He checked the residence to ensure it was still his own. On the far side of the house, the queen, mostly bones and skin now, still draped her nest. Tall’s arrival startled the hatchlings out of the nest and they alternately chattered and hissed at him. From the nest, he moved through the tall weed-grass to the place the bitter-sweet grew. He gathered some of the plant’s silvery green leaves and moved on.

  Soon, with his circuit complete, Tall was back where he started. He put the bitter-sweet in his pack, checked Keene, who seemed less pale, before carefully turning the stinging to renew his circle of protection. The large leaves were wilted but would last until he gathered more.

  The day’s foraging began several houses over in a place where the dark root grew. Bright orange lilies floating on the surface of a rounded pool in the center of the house told him of the terrible danger lurking just below. The cool, secluded pool seemed an ideal place for a bath or swim, but under the surface a thick, sandy mud waited to suck down the unwary.

  Tall sidestepped, used his staff to help steady his way until he finally sighted plump, leafy-green plumes. Gathering the long, dark root was easy work, especially in the soft ground, but he moved with care and purpose, for he didn’t want to end up like the creatures whose remains helped the lilies bloom in such abundance.

  Rain found him before he could make his return, and he hunkered down in the tall weed-grass to wait out the downpour. The deep, earthy smell of the rain-washed dark root made him hungry for his mother’s sun and moon surprise—a dish of light and dark root spiced with terbil leaf and bathed in the oils of the silfer nut. Although terbil and silfer were things grown and not gathered, he could make a similar dish by mixing light and dark root with pressed and crushed bitter-sweet.

  When the rains eased near midday, he went in search of light root. Having gathered as much as he dared already from the closest residences, his search took him farther away from his encampment than he had gone before. He only realized how far afield he’d gone when he pushed his way through a thick growth and found himself staring out at a new section of the deep loch.

  There at the loch’s edge were the tall, grassy plumes he sought, but sure as the beauty surrounding a deep sinking hid its trap, so did the seeming calm of the loch. Soft ripples lapping at the dry were what warned him to step back, and he did so with urgency, using his staff to give his feet flight just as something enormous surged out of the deep waters and struck the ground where he had been standing a moment before.

  His breath caught in his throat. He didn’t wait around to find out what manner of creature it was. He raced into the weed-grass and there waited for the danger to pass. Just in case the creature moved from the loch, he slowed his breathing to quiet his heart. He sat still with his back straight and his hands gripping his staff while the sun completed its ascent.

  Neither sucker nor buzzer stirred him from his hiding place, though both tried. He thought of home and Ellie during the long wait. Surely there was life and opportunity for him beyond Nahtern’n. Perhaps if he followed the outtraders, they would lead him to a village where he could make a home. Perhaps then, once settled, he could return for Ellie. But if he did, would Ellie even look upon him? She would if he could prove himself somehow, he told himself. They’d all look upon him and not see the ghost of what he had been—if he could prove himself.

  Before emerging from seclusion, he caked himself in mud. He was just pushing through the weed-grass and into the open when a herd of wetland horses thundered to the edge of the loch to drink. The horses were svelte and beautiful. Some were brown, others black. Their thick coats had a soft sheen and their manes were shaggy and long.

  A sudden surge of water and waves preceded the long-necked colossus as it surfaced. This was the only warning as the creature’s gaping maw enveloped and devoured one of the horses. The herd scattered, but not before the lead stallion reared and snorted. It was a small defiance in the face of grave danger, but that moment froze and played over and over in Tall’s mind as he made his own escape.

  Danger was everywhere. Tall sensed it as he ran. Using his staff, he vaulted across a narrow flow, sprinting away as soon as he landed. Past an expanse of scatter bush and
an open round, he came upon a dense, prickly tangle. Rather than go around, he pushed his way under and through. The thick cake of mud on his face and skin helped protect him from the long thorns, but he tore his cloak in several places before he emerged on the other side. Only with a wall of spike bushes between himself and the creature did he stop, and that was when he heard a nicker, followed by a faint cry. Both closer than he expected, and especially so when the sounds repeated.

  Tall squeezed under the tangle of spikes, worked his way back as far as he dared, and peered out. There in the middle of the open round was a yearling, trembling and unsure where to go.

  “Back to your mother. Go now,” Tall said, but the colt didn’t move. Tall heard a deep hissing, saw mud falling from the sky. He lifted his gaze, saw the behemoth towering behind the colt. Gripped with sudden fear, he found he couldn’t swallow or breathe. His body trembled, much as the yearling trembled. He could not calm himself, and yet when the behemoth began to open its maw, he found he could not stop his feet either.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself in the clearing, staff spinning in his hand. He shouted, jumped. Using his staff as leverage, he lifted high into the air. He landed with both feet on the yearling’s back and there he stood, swinging his staff wildly from left to right in wide arcs.

  His staff met the creature’s descending maw much as it would have met that of a bull. He slapped left, right, left, right while he shouted as long and loud as he had ever dared. When glistening, white teeth and the black hole of the mouth were all he could see, Tall jumped up and stabbed at the top of the creature’s head as hard as he could.

  The head swept back and the great eyes regarded him. Tall spun his staff in one hand, shook a balled fist in the other. He jumped off the yearling’s back, picked up a stone and threw it. The creature raised back, moved away.