The Omen of Stones

by Casey L. Bond

  The conversation died when I revealed to them I was from One, and Lindey told Omen about the rich homes. I just hoped they didn’t assume I was spoiled and afraid to get my hands dirty.

  I made my way into the kitchen, offering my help. Lindey asked me to divide the cooked eggs between us and set the plates around the table. She gathered silverware and Omen drew glasses of water for each of us. We ate in silence for a few long, uncomfortable minutes. I was afraid I’d worn out my welcome.

  I glanced at my wrists. They were healing, but not quickly. Omen’s salve had helped the wounds stop weeping at least. Lindey must have caught me examining them. “They look so much better.”

  “They do, thanks to Omen.”

  Omen gave a short-lived smile and took a drink of water.

  “The river is flooded,” she said out of the blue.

  “I’m sure it’s receded by now,” I replied. “The storm was wild and it raged for an hour, but there have been several calm hours since.”

  She shook her head. “It’s out of its banks.”

  “How do you…”

  “The stones,” she and Lindey answered at the same time.

  Omen elaborated, “Their voices sound distant. That means there is a lot of water on top of them.”

  “Is there no bridge up or downstream?” I tried.

  “None,” Lindey answered.

  “I’m a strong swimmer. I can get across.”

  “No!” Lindey said loudly. “You can’t get in the water. Not when it’s flooded. If something happened to you, Omen would go in after you.”

  I looked from Lindey to Omen. “You can’t swim?”

  “I can,” she said simply. “But swimming in calm water is much different than swimming in flooded waters. There is debris beneath the surface that you can’t see. It’s dangerous.” Her eyes flitted to a paper tacked to the wall nearby, almost hidden by all the dried bundles of herbs. From where I sat, I couldn’t make out the words.

  Lindey looked at Omen. “The two of you could check to be sure, but if he has to stay longer, we should consider telling Edward.”

  Omen groaned. “It’s really none of his business. He founded the village, but he isn’t our ruler.”

  “I wouldn’t want to catch him unawares,” I told her. “I’ll be happy to introduce myself and let him know I’ll leave as soon as I am able.”

  “He won’t like it,” Omen said, taking a drink of water. She held the glass to her chest and a look passed between her and Lindey.

  Lindey nodded her agreement. She quirked a brow. “Neither will Sebastian.”

  Omen pushed away from her seat and the two of us scrubbed the dishes and set them out to dry. I wondered who Sebastian was. Was Omen hand-fasted? I saw no ribbon on her wrist as she crossed the room.

  “Come on,” she said, waving me toward the door.

  Omen

  “You lied to us,” I accused. I didn’t know how I knew. Maybe Fate told me so, but I knew he wasn’t from the Core or Sector One. And if he was, something about his tale was off.

  “Not everything I told you was a lie. I am from Sector One. Would you still respect me if I told you I was only a servant?” he posed.

  “I’d prefer you didn’t lie,” I snipped. “Better a servant than a liar.”

  I didn’t care what his station in life, I didn’t like being lied to. It was something Lindey and I vowed never to do to one another, and while River wasn’t subject to the same code we kept, lying was wrong.

  We continued to walk along the path that led to the river. In the daylight, he was able to see the stone arches and columns I’d made along the path and hear the wind howl through the hag stones in the trees. If it bothered him, he didn’t let on.

  His boots still squished with every step. I looked at them, watching excess water ooze from the leather. “How can you stand it?” I finally asked.

  He looked at my bare feet. “How can you stand not wearing shoes? Don’t the rocks hurt your feet?”

  “They don’t. Never have. And I hate shoes. I only wear them when forced,” I said unapologetically. “Like yesterday.”

  “What was so special about yesterday that forced you to wear shoes?” he teased with a smirk that made my stomach flip flop. I almost forgot I was angry with him for lying to me.

  “Yesterday evening, before the stones insisted I find you, the Founder held a dance in honor of my birthday and his son’s – or so he said, though everything he does is calculated to reflect back on him and his greatness.”

  “We’re born a day apart, then. I was born the day before yesterday,” he mused thoughtfully. “That’s so strange.”

  “My birthday was the day before.” My legs felt like lead.

  River stopped beneath a large stone arch. The stones warmed around and atop us. “Then we share a birthday, Omen.”

  “That can’t be coincidence. Can it?” I asked, shaken.

  He raked a hand through his dark hair, tousling the slightly curled ends. “I think we both know that Fate doesn’t deal in coincidences.”

  The rest of our walk was mostly silent. I couldn’t explain it, but it felt like I knew River. I’d never met him before last night, but I recognized him all the same. Was it he or Fate I could sense so purely? Maybe Fate’s presence was more pronounced when more than one Fate-Kissed was present.

  If I was being completely honest with myself, saving him was more than just me following Fate’s instructions. It was instinct. I wondered if it had been a different stranger, would I have killed to save them, too? Or was it just him?

  I loved Lindey and would do anything in my power to keep her safe. This boy was a veritable stranger, yet I took two lives so they wouldn’t take his.

  That was huge.

  Lindey had come to me last night after River was settled, worried about me feeling guilty for what I did. The crazy part was, I didn’t. I felt nothing but pride in having protected him. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

  I told her not to worry, but saw the dark circles nestled beneath her eyes this morning. She hadn’t slept well, and it wasn’t because a strange boy was staying in our house. It was because she was worried for me.

  River stopped again near the ewe barn, his mouth gaping open. I stared in the direction he did but saw nothing there but an empty field.

  “River?” I prodded gently after a moment.

  “Do you see her?” he asked, nodding his head toward the barn.

  I assumed he had spotted his spirit visitor again. His skin was a shade paler, like the spirit had stripped a portion of his vitality away. Maybe that was how they were able to appear for him, by siphoning River’s life force in order to manifest. Though the air seemed cooler now, I didn’t see anything and told him as much.

  “I keep seeing her. She won’t leave me alone,” he said, frustration thinning his voice.

  “Is it the same one who led you out of the Kingdom?”

  “One and the same,” he answered. “She keeps pointing like she wants to show me something. When we left the Kingdom she pointed east, but now she wants me to go west.”

  “Then you’ve bypassed what she wants to show you somewhere along the way,” I mused. “Maybe you were unconscious.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed as if considering the possibility. “And maybe she’s just trouble.”

  That could be it, too. Could spirits be malevolent?

  We passed the ewe barn where Daniel Templeton, whose face and hair were as ruddy as his father’s, was hauling two buckets of water toward the trough. The yearlings flocked to him, eager for a drink. I waved politely, but he didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he stared intently at River.

  Daniel was one of Sebastian’s friends, so I was sure he would abandon his chore and run straight to him with the news that I was parading a stranger around the village. I bet Edward
would have a few things to say about it once he heard the news. I wished there was a way to warn Lindey, because I had no doubt the Smiths would be paying her a visit very soon.

  “I’m sorry,” River whispered. “I hope my presence here doesn’t cause you any trouble. If it does, just send word and I’ll make sure you and Lindey are welcomed back into the Kingdom.”

  “Because they give second chances to those who were banished,” I quipped, “or because a lowly servant has that kind of authority?” He swallowed thickly. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, River.”

  Soon, the grazing fields disappeared and we walked into a wooded area filled with pine and oak trees. The rushing waters of the river roared ahead. It hadn’t sounded this angry last night.

  Though the river was turbulent, the stones were quiet, unlike yesterday when they screamed River’s name until I was finally able to see what was wrong and came upon him with his captors.

  River, the boy with the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. They were luminous, like sun hitting fresh honey. I tried unsuccessfully to push the delicious shade of his eyes and his slightly curling sable hair out of my mind. I smoothed my thumb over the comforting rock in my pocket.

  “Where do your wards end?” River asked.

  Thankful for the opportunity to give my mind something else to ponder, I answered, “Those you saw near the river’s edge are at the boundary. They form a circle around the village, hidden in the trees themselves.”

  “A circle of trees hides you, and a circle of warded stones protects you,” he whispered.

  He studied a nearby ward nestled in the crook of a tree, between trunk and limb. I’d woven around each sturdy part and made a circle between them, hanging stones in the middle.

  “You’re like a spider,” he noted wryly, raising one corner of his mouth as he reached out to touch one of the stones. He quickly jerked his hand away. “You know spell magic!”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

  “This is spelled.”

  “I just asked them to protect us, warn us of trespassers, and shield us from anything that means us harm.”

  He stared at his reddening fingers. “Then Fate completed the seal, because it’s infused with a powerful magic.”

  My breath hitched. Could I have spelled them and not even realized I was doing it?

  He stepped outside the ward line and looked at me. “Lindey wanted me to teach you a skill I have that you don’t.”

  So they were talking about more than just the weather this morning…I raised my chin a fraction. “What’s that?”

  He smiled. “Oh, don’t be surprised, stone bearer. I’m not completely powerless.” With that, he closed his eyes and seemed to concentrate, but nothing happened. Then his eyes popped open and frustration marred his pretty face.

  I fought a grin. “Yes, it’s so very impressive, spirit tongue.”

  River’s eyes turned molten. “What did you call me?”

  “Spirit tongue?”

  “Where did you learn that term?”

  “You called me stone bearer and that felt right; spirit tongue feels right for you.”

  “Ah,” he said knowingly. “Fate gave you the title, which is why I called you that. My mom started calling me ‘spirit tongue’ when she first figured out what I could do.”

  His expression darkened so suddenly, my lips parted. “What’s the matter?”

  River looked over my shoulder. I turned slowly, expecting to see the glowering Smith family, but no one was there. Goosebumps surged across my skin as a cold mist enveloped me.

  “Is it the spirit who keeps bothering you?” I asked quietly, afraid to upset her if she was close by. Somehow, I felt she was.

  “Yes, but now she’s pointing downstream. She wants me to go with her.”

  He wasn’t required to do what she said, was he? “Do you want to go downstream, River?”

  He stared at the water, a haunted look sliding over his face. I wondered what he was thinking, or if he was remembering being held beneath it, powerless to fight his way back above the surface. Was he thinking about how his lungs burned and begged for air, and the stench of sweat on the one who tortured him?

  “I have to,” he finally answered, taking off after an apparition I could neither see nor sense. “If I’m ever to be rid of her, I have to help her.”

  I was terrified to see where the spirit led him but followed diligently, careful to avoid the lower grassy areas covered with fast-flowing water.

  If she had the power to lead him out of his safe kingdom and into the dangerous hands of Purists, what else might befall him because of this pesky ghost?

  River

  Currently, the woman’s spirit was two things she hadn’t been before: strengthened and angry. She stabbed a finger southward, farther downstream. I rushed forward, sloshing through the flooded grass to keep up as she glided over the calf-deep water. Had she died nearby? What did she want to show me? What could be so important?

  She’d drawn energy from something or someone, although Omen seemed unaffected. When she appeared out of the blue over Omen’s shoulder, she’d nearly manifested completely. Almost opaque now, I could barely see through her. I knew if she touched Omen she would feel it, the same way Grandmother did when Grandfather focused his energy the night of my party.

  I wondered if Omen felt something and didn’t comprehend what it was. She had quickly guessed the spirit was there. Perhaps she sensed her but didn’t realize the significance.

  The spirit’s angry steps marched down the river. She blazed through flooded spots that Omen and I avoided. It made our journey a little longer than hers and frustrated her when she had to pause and wait for us to catch up.

  “Can you see her yet?” I asked Omen. The woman was almost corporeal.

  “No,” she admitted. “I wish I could, though.” Her silver eyes searched vainly in front of us, gliding back and forth, trying to catch sight of the usually unseen. She pushed sun-kissed strands of hair out of her face. She hadn’t braided it today and it lay in lush waves over her shoulders, covering the bodice of her white dress.

  I tried not to study her too overtly. She was lovely, but I would be leaving as quickly as the water receded. Maybe sooner…

  We chased the ghost to a place where the river bent to the southwest, until the spirit finally stopped and hovered over a piece of earth. The ground was covered in water, the grass waving beneath the surface like thick strands of verdant hair. She pointed to the ground, adamant that I wade in, so I did.

  “Don’t,” Omen objected, grabbing my elbow. She was scared of the water. Her breath became erratic.

  “It’s not deep.” It would barely cover our calves.

  “You don’t understand. I can’t go into it. If something happens…”

  I stopped and studied her pretty eyes, the way her lashes fanned when she blinked, the rise of her chest and rosy flush of her cheeks. “Why are you so afraid of the water, Omen?”

  “Because of the note my birth mother left with me before she abandoned me by the riverside,” she stammered, having trouble catching her breath. She rubbed a spot on her chest as if soothing an ache she wasn’t even aware of.

  As soon as I stepped out of the flooded grass, Omen began to calm down.

  The spirit could wait. The water would recede. Or I could come back on my own. It wasn’t worth upsetting Omen. Not like this.

  “What did the note say?” I asked, unsure what to do or how to help. I suddenly wanted to hold her and tell her it was okay, that I wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want me to, but I barely knew this girl. What was coming over me?

  Omen pressed her eyes closed, then opened them. “It said, ‘She was born in the river. And in the river, will she die.’”

  A prophetic punch to my gut.

  Her witch mother provided her with an inh
eritance of knowing her death, something most people craved until they had it. Those who did often wished for the rest of their lives to unlearn it. It was both a gift and a curse. A cruel thing to leave for a newborn babe, and crueler still for those who found her to share it with her. I would have burned such an ill message the second I clamped eyes on it.

  “It hangs on the wall in our cabin,” she admitted. “It’s the only thing I have left of my birth mother. A sliver of yellowed paper and words written by her hand,” Omen said quietly. “I had a thin blanket, but it fell apart.”

  I remembered seeing the slip of parchment, tattered and worn. Now I regretted not venturing close enough to see what was written on it.

  The spirit, no longer angry or strong, began to fade. Could she sense Omen’s unease? She slowly slipped away, all the while pointing to the spot of earth at the river’s bend. I would come back when the water went down later today.

  “What does the spirit want?” Omen asked, looking around as if still trying to catch sight of her.

  “She’s gone now. More than likely, her bones are buried here. During a person’s life, their bones soak up a tiny fraction of their spirit. That’s why in death, they’re drawn back to it.”

  “Why do they want you to know how it felt to die?” she asked, hugging herself.

  “I’m the only one they can tell,” I explained compassionately. “The most desperate souls, the ones who died because of some wrongdoing, seek me in hopes I’ll be able to somehow avenge their deaths. Quieter souls just find peace after sharing their story with another soul.”

  “Do you exact revenge for them?” she asked. “If that woman who led you here had been murdered and the murderer still lived, would you kill him for her?”

  “I’ve never killed anyone,” I softly answered, hoping she didn’t regret what she’d done to save me.

  Her brows drew in. “You couldn’t just know something like that and not bring the person to justice.”

  “There are other ways to do that. Killing isn’t always the answer.” There were courts. There was my father and Knox, and there was my mother – conjurer of truth spells.