Ghile looked to Adon, who only shrugged.
Ghile sat down and began centering himself. He heard Muk croaking out instructions between exaggerated breaths.
“Relax body, starting with feet. Work up slowly to head. All the way up. Feel all body go soft. Then, when ready feel feet sink in ground. Feet heavy. They sink deep. Feel head light like fur drifting on wind. Feel head float up,” Muk droned on.
Ghile relaxed his body. This was familiar. He had learned this way of relaxing from Adon. He felt all his muscles release. He forced images of his family from his mind knowing this was how he could reach them.
Ghile felt his feet getting heavy. They sank into the ground and he felt them spreading out taking in nourishment. As his head became lighter, he felt it extending upwards into the sky. He felt his hair reaching out like branches. Ghile was the great oak. He could see out over the tiny island. See the circular lake and mountains surrounding it. He could see his roots reaching down forever. He could feel endless possibility above him, but something told him not to go that way. There was confusion there, too many choices.
Somewhere in the distance Ghile heard the croaking of a frog. An incessant chirping was coming from somewhere and he almost lost his focus when he realized it was the Goblin, Muk.
“Go down to home,” Muk said.
Ghile reached down into his roots, and could feel himself drifting off. He knew this was the way back.
Ghile's sitting body disappeared from beneath the great oak. Adon stood there saying nothing as Muk rose and stared at him in silence.
“Now help me find that shadow,” Adon said.
Muk nodded and followed Adon into the woods.
40
Those We Love
Ghile bolted up, shocking Gaidel, who had been kneeling next to him. He struggled to rise. His head ached. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.
“Be at peace, Ghile,” Gaidel said. He only struggled for a moment longer before settling for a sitting position. She offered him a small wooden bowl. “Drink this.”
At first the water burned, but then it slid down his throat in soothing waves. Who would have thought water could feel so good? Ghile could feel it slide down the sides of his empty stomach. “Hungry,” he croaked.
“Well, you should be Sheepherder. You have been asleep for two days,” Riff said.
Riff's annoyingly casual manner made Ghile smile. He was beginning to find it comforting. Then he realized what Riff had said.
“What? No.” Ghile only remembered being on the island for a short time. How he could have been asleep that long? They were still in Muk's cave. He could see a small fire with their belongings scattered around it. The bodies of the worgs were missing. Sunlight filtered in from the entrance. If he had been asleep for two days Ghile feared the worse for his family.
“No, my family. We need to get to Last Hamlet,” he said. Ghile started to rise again and almost spilled the large bowl Gaidel was trying to hand him. Some of whatever was in the new bowl spilled out, burning her fingers, and her visage grew stern.
“We are not going anywhere until you eat this. I could barely get you to drink anything and your fever only broke this morning,” Gaidel said. She must have seen the argument forming on Ghile lips.
“I will have Two Elks hold you while I pour this down your throat or you can feed yourself,” she said. “The choice is yours.”
Two Elks moved up behind Gaidel, towering over the both of them. His massive arms crossed over his chest and his raised eyebrow helped emphasize her point.
Ghile took the bowl.
“You don't understand. That culler is going to hurt my family.”
Gaidel motioned the bowl towards his mouth until Ghile relented and took a sip. It was a meaty soup and Ghile began scooping more into his mouth, despite his concern.
“Two Elks and Fang Toren returned from Last Hamlet this morning,” Gaidel said.
“Are they safe?” Ghile asked as he chewed.
“No one there,” Two Elks said. He sat back down to warm his hands by the fire.
Riff dropped down next to Ghile and explained how they had seen smoke rising from Last Hamlet in the morning after his battle against the worgs and goblin. Two Elks and his uncle had set out immediately. When they arrived they found Last Hamlet had been put to the torch, but it was deserted. Even those who had stayed behind when the rest had gone to the summer festival were missing. The two had studied the tracks and could tell the dwarves had arrived to an empty village and could only assume they burned it in their frustrations. Their tracks led back down the valley.
Burning a village in frustration did not sound like something the dwarves would do. But then, Ghile remembered the look in the culler's eyes and knew he was fully capable of such an action.
“Where are they, then?” Ghile said.
“My guess is Master Almoriz gathered the remaining villagers and took them down the valley to meet up with those coming up from Lakeside. My guess is he would have taken them somewhere the dwarves would not think to look,” Riff said.
Ghile was sure the dwarves would be searching in every village and hamlet in both Upper and Lower Vale. He couldn't think of any place where you could hide an entire village…except.
“The ruins,” Ghile said.
“Exactly. Your uncle set out from Last Hamlet yesterday to find them and let Master Almoriz and your family know you were alive,” Riff said.
“He is a skilled tracker,” Two Elks added from his place by the fire.
“Wait, Uncle Toren didn't look able to stand,” Ghile said. He remembered his uncle bound and lying wounded on the ground next to Muk.
“I healed him,” Gaidel said.
Ghile remembered his mauled leg. He moved it gingerly, waiting for the sharp pain and resulting nausea, but it did not come. Instead there was only a dull ache and stiffness in the joints. He reached up and touched his shoulder where the arrow had grazed him. There was no pain there either. He suddenly felt his face redden. Gaidel had healed him as well and had been tending him while he laid helpless on the floor.
“Thank you for helping us, Gaidel,” Ghile said. He dug into the bowl of stew she had given him. The least he could do was be a good patient.
Gaidel swallowed and averted her eyes. Ghile worried he had somehow offended her?
“Daughter Gaidel, I mean.”
As quickly as the look had come it disappeared from her face and she smiled at him. “No, Ghile. It isn't that. Please call me, Gaidel.”
She seemed to be struggling with what to say or at least how to say it. “I did not heal your wounds,” she finally said.
Ghile tested his ankle again, confused. “Then how?”
“Your wounds mended themselves while you slept,” Gaidel said. “I don't really understand how, I had tried to sing their healing, but…” She averted her eyes again. Ghile couldn't help but think she looked scared.
“It is good you are healed, Ghile Stonechosen,” Two Elks rose and walked up to Ghile, handing him a circular chord with long yellowed teeth hanging from it.
“You fought well. Wear this so others know you are warrior,” Two Elks said.
Ghile looked from the barbarian to the necklace. It was made of stretched skin and worg fangs. There was still blood and small flecks of flesh on some of the teeth. He resisted the urge to withdraw his hand lest he offend Two Elks and gingerly took the necklace. “Thank you.”
Two Elks nodded. For some reason Ghile felt proud in pleasing Two Elks.
Riff patted Ghile on the back. “Just be glad it wasn't a paw on the end of a stick or something,” he whispered.
“Now we leave this place. The Cradle is not safe,” Two Elks said.
“What? No, we cannot leave yet,” Ghile said.
“Ghile, as long as you remain in the Cradle you are not safe,” Gaidel said.
“You all agreed to help me find my uncle so I could speak with him and see that my family was safe. Until I speak with him an
d actually see my family, I refuse to leave the Cradle.”
Ghile swallowed the rest of what he was going to say. The three of them had already risked their lives. He knew they were only trying to protect him. He was acting like a spoiled child again.
Ghile ran his hand through his hair and squeezed the back of his neck. “Look. I'm sorry.”
“Thank you for helping me save my uncle,” Ghile started. He looked to Riff, “and for saving me,” he added.
Riff winked at him, smiling.
“I know we need to leave the Cradle. I even know where we need to go.”
He raised his hand when he saw their expressions change. There would be time to explain about the girl and the City of the Fallen later.
“Please understand I may never see them again.” So many emotions bubbled just below the surface threatening to boil over.
“I need to say goodbye,” Ghile said.
Ghile could feel something pass between them in the moment that followed as they all stood in that cave on the side of the Horn. For Ghile it felt like their destinies had just intertwined.
“To the ruins then,” Gaidel finally said, breaking the silence.
“Have another bowl of Two Elks' worg stew, Ghile,” Riff said.
Ghile pulled a face as he stared down at his bowl. “This is worg?”
“Delicious, isn't it?” Riff said grinning.
41
It is Written
Finngyr stormed into the magister's meeting hall. He dragged the young apprentice, Bjurst, by the hair and gave the miserable excuse of a servant a final shake for good measure before hurling him forward onto the floor.
“What is this beardling prattling on about, Magister?” Finngyr demanded.
He was in a foul mood. He had not landed on the roof of the Bastion but ten minutes ago. He had not been able to find the Hungering God's vessel, or any humans for that matter, in that wretched little village. On top of that, it looked like the humans of Lakeside had decided to behave themselves. Finngyr had seen them going on about their normal lives when he flew over the town. He had been itching to help quell any rebellion. He was in a foul mood indeed.
The magister and the other clan elders were all seated at the low stone table looking smug. If Finngyr didn't know better he would have sworn they looked as if they were waiting for him.
He didn't have time for this nonsense.
“When I ordered him to send for a runesmith he told me I was to be immediately escorted before this council.” Finngyr all but spat the words, each one louder than the one before.
“Which he did admirably. Thank you, Bjurst. You may go,” the magister said.
Finngyr couldn't believe his ears. Had this coin mongering fool finally lost all good sense? Why were they all sitting there so glibly?
Finngyr resisted the urge to kick the apprentice as Bjurst scrambled up and bowed his way out the door.
“What are you about, Magister? Do you need to be reminded who is in charge? There is a vessel of the Hungering God somewhere in this settlement that the empire has entrusted you to oversee. Summon a runesmith to send a message to Daomount. I am going to need help if I'm to find that cursed whelp. Those poor excuses for guards you have cannot even find an entire village!”
The magister motioned and one of the young human children they used as messengers ran forward. “Send runners into Upper and Lower Vale. Tell Sergeant Montul to return to the Bastion.” He sent the boy running with a quick pat on the head.
Finngyr had had enough. He was going to tear the magister apart with his bare hands. “You dare usurp me? You deny the rights given to me by the Prophecies!” He started forward, his gauntleted hands clenching into fists.
Magister Obudar rose from his seat to slam his fists down on the cold unmoving table. “It is by the Prophecies that I resume control of the Cradle, Knight Justice!”
Finngyr continued his advance. “What does someone like you know of the Prophecies?”
The magister began speaking words that Finngyr recognized as a direct quote from the Book of Hjurl. That stopped him. He had just been a beardling himself when he first read those runes. It brought back many memories of the temple of Daomur where he spent his youth on the highest summits of Daomount.
“Now marked his chosen must gather
Where once his progeny thrived
His hunger compels them to journey
In his cities they survive.”
“You cannot find the boy because he is no longer in the Cradle, Knight Justice. It is known the only ancient human dwellings in the Cradle are those tiny ruins at the base of the Horn. Hardly what one would call a city. Every day you spend here looking under rocks is another day that boy grows stronger and gets closer to his destination,” the magister said.
Finngyr stood there rigid, staring at each of those fat merchants. As much as it pained him to admit it, the magister was right. How could he have forgotten what was written in the Prophecies on the trials of the vessels? It was why their ruins were forbidden. He would need to consult the book of Hjurl to see what else he might learn. How far had the boy already gotten? Which of the human cities would he seek?
“How do you know runes from the Book of Hjurl so well, Magister? Do you have engravings here?” Finngyr begrudgingly asked.
The magister sat back down and looked to the other elders before replying. “We are but a small outpost on the very edge of the empire, Knight Justice. We would not have such engravings here.”
Finngyr fought the anger down. As he looked upon the serene faces of the other dwarves he realized how he must appear to them. All dwarves were taught from an early age that emotions clouded judgments. Daomur's laws were to be weighed in a clear mind. Maybe he was the one who had spent too much time with these tainted humans. He took a steadying breath.
“Then I shall take my leave, Magister. The Temple thanks you for granting hospitality to one of its brethren. The Cradle is yours,” Finngyr recited.
“His word is law,” the magister intoned, followed by the rest at the table.
“His word is law,” Finngyr repeated, bowing his head slightly. He turned to leave.
“Knight Justice, what of your prisoner?” The magister called.
It took Finngyr a moment before he knew who the magister was asking about.
“Do what you will with that fat sorcerer. He is of no more interest to me,” Finngyr said as he left the hall.
42
To be Chosen
Ghile sat on the dusty floor of what he now realized was a hidden shrine to a stonechosen of Haurtu. He absently nursed his ankle. It was still stiff from their descent down the Horn. Two everflame torches filled the small circular room with light, causing shadows to dance along the carvings in the surrounding walls. The wooden debris he remembered had been cleared. The human statue still stood where he remembered it, tall and straight near the opposite wall. He split his gaze between the stone spiral in its chest and the statue's conceit-filled stare.
Ghile thought a look of terror might have been more appropriate. Maybe if the ancient sculptor actually knew what destiny lay before a stonechosen, he would have carved a look that would have warned people to stay away from it? The thought made him chuckle.
“What do you find funny?” Master Almoriz asked from where he sat on the stone stairs leading up and out of the hidden room. Those were the first words shared between the two since Uncle Toren had brought him here.
Uncle Toren had met them outside the ruins where he had been hidden and on guard near one of the many entrances. Ghile was still confused by the way his uncle had greeted them. The smile his uncle usually shared with him was gone, replaced by a thin-lipped no nonsense look.
He had spoken quietly with Gaidel first, which bothered Ghile more than he cared to admit, before asking Ghile to follow him. He had not answered any of Ghile's questions, only saying Master Almoriz would explain. He was then taken on a roundabout path through the ruins to the same angled room with the
multiple exits and the shaft of light shining down on the square hole.
Because of the way his uncle had treated him and being brought to the very room where his trouble began, a room they had denied even existed, Ghile had said nothing and sat down to stare angrily at the Sorcerer of Whispering Rock, who, frustratingly, seemed more than willing to wait.
“You lied to me,” Ghile said.
“Not even the pretense of manners now, I see, Ghile of Last Hamlet.”
“There is no more Last Hamlet,” Ghile said. He resisted the urge to add, “because of me”. Even though it was the culler who had actually burned his home, none of this would have happened had he not come down into this room and touched that statue.
“I am Ghile Stonechosen, now.”
“So you are, so you are,” Master Almoriz said.
Ghile heard the change in the sorcerer's tone. For the first time, Master Almoriz sounded old. He was obviously old, but he had never seemed it.
But now Ghile could hear it in his voice. Ghile was not the only one effected. Master Almoriz had caused those fires to erupt at the Rite of Attrition, killing and wounding all those people, just so Ghile could escape.
“I am sorry, Master Almoriz,” Ghile finally said after a long stretch of silence.
“No, you are right. I have some explaining to do,” Master Almoriz said.
He glanced up towards the top of the stairs and then seeming satisfied, moved to sit next to Ghile along the wall. He made more than a few complaints about aches and old bones as he settled onto the floor and leaned back carefully.
“We have time before we go meet with your family.” He seemed to take a moment to compose himself and then cleared his throat.
“What I share with you now has not been shared with any but a select few outside my order, Ghile Stonechosen. Know I only share it with you now because of what you are and because I think it might help keep you alive.”
“We sorcerers do not share the true extent of our knowledge and true purpose. There are many secrets we have passed down through the ages from master to apprentice. If the dwarves saw us as more than useful tinkerers, they would have eradicated us long ago. We are not offered the same protections that druids are under dwarven laws,” Master Almoriz said.
The Cradle of the Gods (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 1) Page 17