“I think I will choose the boy as a fang,” Mother Brambles eventually said.
“He has not even passed his manhood test, Mother.”
“He will pass, I have sung as much. The question is will he survive his culling?”
“He is to be culled?” Gaidel was shocked. What else had Mother Brambles sung about him? How deep into the song was Mother Brambles able to go?
“Yes, Daughter Gaidel. It is the only way for us to know for sure if he has been chosen.”
Gaidel was still a novice druid and her skills reflected that. She had learned to enter the song and follow its course. She could hear all of nature singing along with her and could even have Allwyn's children follow her song for a short time. She felt a part of everything around her when in the song. But singing your own song against the constant pull of the All Song was difficult and often druids would lose themselves in it and in doing so lose that which made them who they were. What remained behind of a druid who had lost herself in the song was only a shell of what she once was, capable of only the simplest of tasks.
Mother Brambles had been the Mother Druid for longer than anyone could remember. How old she was actually was often a topic of debate when the druids gathered for council. But not a question anyone was foolish enough to ask her directly.
“Mother, if he has been chosen?” Gaidel ventured to ask.
“Then he is to be protected. Balance above all else, Daughter Gaidel,” Mother Brambles said, as if it was the answer to everything.
“Balance above all else,” she repeated, not truly understanding how all this would end in balance.
“So, what are we to do about keeping the peace as Magister Obudar reminded me was our duty?” Gaidel said.
Mother Brambles watched the festivities, her wrinkled hand tapping along with the rhythm of a jovial song being performed by a group of wandering minstrels who weaved their way through the crowd.
“What Master Obudar, and apparently you, do not understand is that the balance and peace do not always go hand in hand,” Mother Brambles said.
Gaidel noticed others of her order had started to appear from the crowd and the wood behind them. They were all making their way towards them.
“We will let events unfold as they will. After the manhood tests and the choosing, I am leaving. I am going to ask all the others of the order to do so as well. Except for you, Daughter Gaidel. After Ghile of Last Hamlet survives his culling, I want you to bring him and his guardian to me.”
“Survives his…his guardian?” Gaidel said.
“Yes. Your newest admirer, Child, young Master Riff.” Mother Brambles chuckled and moved her head in time with the music. She waved for some of the new arrivals to come forward bringing an end to their conversation.
As Gaidel watched Mother Brambles greet the new arrivals, she wondered how Ghile was supposed to survive his culling.
27
Everything Changes
The sun's rays warmed his face, waking him. Ghile yawned and stretched as best he could. He wiped the sleep from his eyes. Carefully, Ghile scooted out from under the jagged rock lip he had used as a shelter and ventured a glance down the cliff's face to the forest floor far below.
The upper reaches of the Redwood stretched out before him, a mixture of angled limbs and scattered foliage. The blue of the sky Ghile could see through the leaves was washed with morning's orange and yellow hues. The wind still carried the coolness of night. Birdsong was already heavy in the air.
Numerous branches from the trees bordering the cliff swung lazily nearby. He had climbed down the short distance of the cliff as evening fell. Ghile tried to work the stiffness out of his shoulders. His stomach rumbled. It was time to find something to eat. He swung his legs over the edge and was just about to push off and float down when he saw movement below him.
Of all the initiates to be running along the cliff face it would of course be Gar and Bralf. They were running hard and constantly looking behind them. Ghile leaned as far out from the ledge as he dared to see their pursuers. He heard them before he saw them. A group of hunters came whooping and jeering over the rise. They were all bare chested and covered in reddish swirls. They banged their shields with clubs, closing the distance.
Ghile entertained the idea of using his powers to trip the two bullies. It would be easy enough to take a couple of stones from his pouch and hurl them at their legs. Ghile imagined the looks on their faces when they were caught and beaten into submission. They would go back in shame and have to try again next year. He reached for his pouch. A part of him truly wanted to follow through with it.
“Gar! Bralf! They are closing on you! Climb!” Ghile heard himself call.
The two swung their heads around searching for him.
“Look up!” Ghile shouted.
Bralf saw him first and he pointed him out to Gar. They both looked behind them, began to argue and finally Bralf shook his head and ran for the cliff. Gar hesitated, almost continued to run, then cursed and followed.
Ghile edged along the lip he was on until he reached the side and began the short climb to the top. The other two had their work cut out for them, but at least they would have a chance now. The hunters would have to climb as well.
Ghile didn't even need his powers to make it back to the top. There were plenty of crevices and outcroppings to use as foot and hand rests. He heaved himself over the top and rolled onto his back. The moss grew in thick clumps here, covering the stones. He massaged his aching shoulders and arms, breathing hard.
When he caught his breath, he rolled onto his stomach and peered over the edge. Both Gar and Bralf were almost to the top. A good distance below, but closing, were about half of the hunters. The others must have gone on looking for an easier way up.
“Don't look down,” one called. “It's a long drop,” another added.
Ghile looked around quickly. He didn't see anyone coming. The cliff seemed to run on for quite some distance. He had never been this far into the Redwood before, but he knew he was still well up in the mountains and safe enough from everything other than the hunters. Unfortunately, he also knew these woods were well patrolled and if there were any woodsmen or fangs with them they would know if an easier route up existed.
“Ghile! Give me a hand!” Bralf called. He never thought he would hear Bralf asking him for help. Ghile shrugged and reached down to pull him up. When he reached back down for Gar he only got an angry stare for his efforts. He sighed and looked around trying to decide which way to go as Gar made the top.
“Thanks, Ghile,” Bralf said, resting his hand on his knees and trying to catch his breath.
“Sure,” Ghile replied.
“We better be off. Some of them look to be going around,” Ghile said. With that he headed away from the cliff and across the rocky moss-covered ground. There were no trees growing along the top of the cliff and he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the hunters before they reached the top.
He heard the other two following him and wondered what they were up to. He didn't have time to tell them to go away and doubted he would get more than a punch for his efforts anyway.
The three ran in silence for a while. Ghile was in the lead for some of the time, but Gar usually kept even with him. It was obvious they had about as much idea where they were going as he did. He couldn't use his powers to hide his tracks as long as they were with him. He knew they could not outrun the hunters for the entire day. Eventually they would catch up or they would run into another group.
Renewed shouts behind him told Ghile the hunters had reached the top. There would soon be more to deal with.
The ground suddenly dropped way before them and both he and Gar almost fell, catching themselves at the last moment. They had ran onto a point and hadn't realized it. Ghile searched frantically for a way down, but the cliff angled inward beneath them.
Ghile turned towards the others just in time for Gar's fist to slam into his face, knocking him to the ground.<
br />
“Damn ya to the Devourer, Ghile,” Gar spat, jabbing a finger at him. “You just got us caught.”
Ghile shook his head to clear it and then got up. “I didn't tell you to follow me, Gar.”
Gar made to hit him again when Bralf stepped between them. “Stop it, Gar. We are going to have to fight our way out. We need him.”
“Let me go, I'm tired of this little Daddy's boy.” Gar tried to shake Bralf loose.
Ghile almost told Bralf to let him go. Ghile tasted blood in his mouth and it fed his anger. He was more than ready to give Gar the beating he deserved. Only the shouts of the approaching hunters stayed his hand.
Ghile looked out over the chasm. The other side was well beyond any normal jump. But, it was lower on the other side. If he was going to try it he would have to do it now. He took a few steps back.
Both Gar and Bralf seemed to realize what Ghile was about to do and stopped struggling against each other. Ghile could tell by the look on their faces what they thought. He could hear the men coming up behind them. He had to clear it all from his mind if he was going to do this.
Ghile was soaring out over nothing before he realized he had jumped. He reached over his head and pushed the thin cupped shield out above him. It caught the wind as he soared down towards the other side. He thought about letting the force shield above him go and try breaking his fall with the thicker shield, but could tell he wasn't going to make it. He was falling too fast. He felt the air rush out of him as he smacked into the opposite cliff face. The shield that had carried him across dissipated on impact and he scrambled for anything to stop his fall.
The fingers of his left hand slid into a crack and he focused all his will into those fingers, feeling his shield squeeze into the crack and slide deeper into the wall, securing him. He hung there trying to draw air in ragged gasps.
He swung around in time to see the hunters run up beside Gar and Bralf, who still watched with eyes wide and mouths agape. The hunters all but ignored the boys, having seen him jump. They first stared down into the chasm, but on seeing him hanging from the other side, began cheering and banging their shields.
He smiled weakly and began climbing up. The full understanding of what he just did hit him and he could feel his whole body shaking. He had never felt as alive as he did just then. He kissed the side of the cliff and began laughing. Pulling himself to the top and sitting there. He waved to the other side and continued laughing.
His was still laughing to himself when the hunters grabbed Gar and Bralf and began dragging them away. Either Gar and Bralf were too stunned to put up a fight, or the hunters were too stunned to use their clubs to subdue them. Regardless, it appeared the two were going peacefully. Ghile wiped joyful tears from his eyes and looked around for where to go next.
Across the chasm, Gar suddenly thrust his leg behind one of the men holding him and brought his arm across the man's chest, tripping him. He twisted under the other hunter and was free. He turned, sprinting towards Ghile and the chasm.
Ghile jumped to his feet and waved his hands for Gar to stop. He couldn't possibly think he could make it?
“No!” Ghile screamed.
He saw the look of determination on Gar's face as he took the last few strides and leaped into the air.
Their eyes locked as Gar flew out across the chasm. Anger for Ghile filled his eyes, as if it was enough to will him across the gap.
It was not.
Gar's eyes still held Ghile's, but the anger was replaced with fear as he fell from sight.
28
Rite of Attrition
Ghile felt nothing. He was numb. He was lined up with the other young men and women who were of age to take the Rite of Attrition. The many fires in the field outside of Lakeside cast long shadows. The faces of the spectators looked like distorted reflections. Some held torches of everflame, glowing more brightly than the regular fires. The armor of the many dwarves gathered for the rite reflected the light.
Ghile could still see Gar's face. The rest of the day had passed in a haze. He had not seen another hunter after the cliffs. He vaguely wondered if they had just left him alone after what happened. He imagined he would have been easy enough to capture. He just stumbled through the forest until he finally found himself back in the festival field and the cheering crowds outside Lakeside.
His mother had been crying and holding him, Tia still in her arms. His father had patted his shoulder and nodded his approval. “It will all be over soon and we can go home,” his father had told him.
Ghile had gone through the final ceremony with the other survivors and were now recognized as men of the Cradle. Each had then gone before the eldest druid, Mother Brambles, to be seen and potentially chosen.
Like the others, he went before her, surrounded by his family. She was lost in the song, other druids behind her, their heads bowed. He was first reminded of a shriveled fruit someone had left out under the sun. That was until her eyes opened and she pointed at him with that gnarled staff. Behind her eyes he could see something flowing, like a river of tiny streaming lights. Ghile could feel the power coming off her in waves. Her intensity jarred him out of his self-induced stupor.
The crowd erupted with cheers and clapping. He was chosen? He was going to be a fang like his uncle? Ghile didn't know how to feel. He was both excited and terrified.
His father stepped up and solemnly, but firmly, shook his head. Of course, by the traditions his father had the right to refuse. Ghile felt an urge to push past him. He now had the courage to accept the druid's offer. He knew it would bring dishonor on his father, this was not what stopped him. He turned and looked to his mother and Tia. How could he leave them? They had already lost Adon.
He thought of Gar and his vision was filled again with those angry blaming eyes. Did he even deserve such an honor? In the end, the emotion filled haze that was his day settled back over him and he numbly followed his family away from the singing woman and her glowing eyes.
Ghile vaguely remembered eating something before he heard the horns calling all those of age to the rite. So now here he stood. Waiting.
He stared down the line of waiting humans when the largest dwarf he had ever seen came into view. Every bit of the dwarf was covered in metal. The light from the bonfires danced across its armor and the huge hammer it carried in front of it.
Ghile was fascinated by the helmet on its head. It looked like a screaming dwarf, but where the helmet's mouth would have been, a wide flat face glowered out, a beard spilled forth beneath it. He lowered his head for fear the dwarf would notice him. For the first time since finding the statue, Ghile felt fear slipping back into his stomach like a fat wet slug. Ghile heard the girl in the line beside him start to cry.
All the warnings Adon had given him about the rite came home. His mouth went dry and he couldn't swallow. He tried to take deep breaths and find his center, but they wouldn't come. He couldn't focus.
He heard that strange sound metal makes when you slide something against it and felt rather than heard the dwarf walk towards him. He could hear ringing in his ears. Was he going to faint?
The ringing sound grew louder. Ghile looked up and saw the massive dwarf standing before him. The dwarf was holding his hammer before him like he had just discovered he had been holding a rock snake instead. The ringing sound was coming from the hammer and it started to glow. Ghile felt an intense pain rising in his chest that was keeping pace with the ringing and building light coming from the hammer. Ghile tried to run, but his legs wouldn't answer his plea to flee.
Somewhere in the distance he heard his mother's screams and his father shouting his name. Ghile suddenly recalled holding his mother's hand as they watched Adon being chosen by a dwarf covered in metal.
He was going to die.
“I cull thee!” the dwarf roared.
Ghile saw the hammer, its surface dancing with reflected flames, falling towards his face. He didn't have time to scream as the hammer blocked out all else. The pain
in his chest consumed him.
29
Sacred Duty
Finngyr hefted the long handled hammer. Its familiar weight settled into his hands. He squeezed the relic tightly and began reciting the words of obedience all cullers learned by rote and used to reconfirm daily, their utter loyalty to Daomur.
Your word is law
I am your vessel.
I deliver your law.
Your word is justice.
I am your vessel.
I deliver your justice.
Your word is truth.
I am your vessel
I deliver your truth.
In Daomur's judgment, we are preserved.
Finngyr walked into the cleared field. His armor was resplendent. He stood there looking out over the herds of humans, waiting for Daomur's judgment, huddled among the enormous bonfires.
Finngyr was born to deliver Daomur's judgment on these creatures, but even as he exulted in serving his god, he felt the itch he always did before battle. He had served on the Nordlah Plains ever since taking the oaths. The search for those who were the potential vessels of the hungering god was a war. The barbarians would fight to a man against Daomur's judgment. Every inch taken was a struggle.
Here, in this so called Cradle of the Gods, they lined up like lambs for the slaughter. Bile rose in Finngyr's mouth as he marched passed the line of dwarves sent to oversee the ceremonies. He had made sure their armor shined and their weapons held keen edges.
These border guards lack discipline. They have become lazy, shepherding these humans. Every last one of them should be sent back to Daomount. One day in that holiest of the empire's mountain cities would remind these country bumpkins of the greater good they served. Bunch of squeamish beardlings, the lot of them.
Finngyr could not wait to finish this and be gone from this place. Normally, he would have waded into the thick of battle with his brother knight justices. Each armed with his ancient hammer, identical to the one Finngyr now held before him. These hammers were the most single, sacred item of his sect. It was through these blessed relics that they could identify a vessel of the Hungering God. When the hammer hummed in his grasp, he knew he had found another and he would sing Daomur's praises as he culled it from the herd. It seemed almost an insult to walk down this line of clueless humans.
The Cradle of the Gods (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 1) Page 11