Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth)

by Donovan, Rob

  Not that the leader of the Order could be trusted. A surge of anger swept over her as thoughts of her childhood resurfaced. She forced them from her mind. Now was not the time.

  Thirst quenched, her horse ambled over to where she stood and watched her. When she made no move to him, he snorted and then wandered off to stand in the shade of some nearby trees.

  She regarded the horse for a short while. He was an impressive stallion. His brown coat shone in the glow of the sun giving definition to his powerful legs. She was not affectionate with horses and did not believe in getting attached to an animal used for transport. This stallion had been with her for over two years, though, and had served her well. Maybe she should give him a name.

  Her head was beginning to hurt with the myriad of thoughts racing through her mind. She went over to the river and splashed her face. The icy water did little to ease her concerns but the shock of the coldness felt good on her skin.

  She watched a school of fish swim aimlessly. They darted along a short distance and then stopped as if forgetting where they were going in such a hurry. I can identify with that, the young woman thought. She was racing to a village to deliver devastating news to three families and make sure they attended the Ritual when her true purpose for joining the Order was to stop the Ritual from happening.

  Was that true, though? Did she really care for the lives of the families she was about to disrupt? Before she joined the Order she could say with honesty that she did. In the years that followed, however, Iskandar had opened her eyes to far greater things. He had taught her skills that set her far above the average commoner. She had learned that whilst it was shocking when death occurred to an individual, the bigger picture must always be considered. Did one death affect Frindoth in the great scheme of things?

  She continued to watch the fish. They had now all turned and were making their way against the flow of the current. Were people any different than fish? She dropped a rock into the water and watched them disperse, before coming back together and continuing their pointless journey. Frindoth would do the same once the Ritual had dropped its rock on it.

  “It’s tough, isn’t it?”

  Marybeth jumped to her feet, startled by the man’s voice. He was standing by her horse stroking his mane. How had she not heard him? The man had a pleasant face which was partially covered by long blond locks. He wore a red calf-length tunic over jade hosen. The combination did not match but oddly did not look out of place on the man.

  “Get away from my horse,” Marybeth said as her eyes located her sword resting against the tree trunk next to the stranger. She cursed her stupidity at leaving herself so defenceless.

  The man removed his hands from the horse and kept them raised in a show of peace. Not knowing what to do next, she went over and began to saddle the horse. The horse shifted as it sensed Marybeth’s misgivings.

  “Please do not leave on my account. I was just trying to empathise with how tough it is,” he said. He had a quiet confidence in his tone that irked her.

  “What is?” she barked.

  “Knowing where to begin,” he replied. His response surprised her. She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The dilemma you are now faced with, of course. Do you work to prevent the Ritual and defeat the Gloom, or do you carry on in ignorance as Frindoth has done for years.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about. My role is to escort the stone bearers to the Ritual and make sure it takes place without incident. That is all.”

  She finished adjusting the straps to the horse and began to lead it away.

  “I agree, and I applaud your commitment.”

  Marybeth nodded but kept on walking. She was spooked. How could the man have possibly known what she was thinking?

  “For what it is worth, I agreed with your father,” the man called after her. Marybeth froze. Her legs went weak and she had to lean on the horse to remain upright.

  “You knew my father?” she said, turning back to the man. He did not look familiar even though it had been a long time since her father had died. Still, she thought she would be able to recognise one of his friends even now. This man seemed too young, though.

  “Regretfully no,” the man replied. He then smiled as if he really did feel remorse over not knowing him. “But I shared his beliefs, Marybeth, and I think deep down you do too.”

  Marybeth was speechless. How could this man know anything about her? How had he even found her? Had he been following her? If so, for how long and why had she not detected him? She recalled her father and fought back tears.

  Her father was the main reason Marybeth joined the Order in the first place. He believed the Gloom could be defeated and there was no reason why someone had to be sacrificed every twelve years. Her whole life had been spent trying to discover why he thought this, but despite establishing herself first as Iskandar’s apprentice and then a fully fledged member of the Order, she was still no nearer to discovering the truth.

  “Care to join me for lunch?” the stranger said and then sat down by the river and began setting out an assortment of food from his bag.

  Marybeth hesitated. Despite his pleasant demeanour, the man concerned her. He knew who she was, yet he did not appear to be afraid of her in the slightest. It was something Marybeth was not used to and it made her uneasy. Her instinct was to run away.

  “Sit,” the man said almost casually and then motioned for her to sit by him.

  Marybeth scoffed at the order.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. The man did not look up and continued to forage through his pack. Marybeth took the opportunity to retrieve her sword and then pointed it at the man.

  “How do you know about me and my father?” she said.

  “I know many things. Some of which I am prepared to share with you. What you need to know immediately is that I do not like to be questioned or threatened.” Again, as the man spoke he did not look up at her.

  Marybeth placed the tip of her sword under his chin and gently raised the man’s head.

  “And I do not like strangers who appear and do not answer my questions. Tell me how you knew my father,” she said. The man sighed.

  “I am not interested in a pissing contest with you,” he said. “But you are starting to try my patience.”

  Marybeth flicked her blade against his chin drawing blood. The man touched the cut and glanced down at his red-stained fingers. He shook his head as if frustrated with a child too dumb to understand reasoning.

  “Now, tell me how you knew …” Before Marybeth could finish her question, the man thrust out his hand. Marybeth felt all the air leave her lungs as she was punched in the stomach by an unseen force. Her feet left the floor as she was propelled backwards. She lost the grip on her sword and landed on her back in the river.

  She floundered around as the water engulfed her before her feet found purchase on the riverbed only a few feet beneath her. Embarrassed, she broke the water surface spluttering. The man had not moved. Rage consumed her. She waded through the water summoning her dropped sword as she did so. The blade flew into her hand, the solid hilt feeling good. How dare he treat a member of the Order like that? As she raised the sword above her head, the man motioned with his hand again in a dismissive gesture.

  Marybeth was again struck in the stomach by an unseen force and found herself in the river. She pulled herself to shallow water and lay there for a moment. Her stomach ached but the cold mud felt refreshing in the heat.

  Eventually she got to her feet and moved towards the man.

  “Sit,” he said, inspecting his lunch as if nothing had changed. Marybeth obeyed through gritted teeth, angry at the man’s arrogance. She held her stomach and winced as she squatted. The man observed her discomfort and pulled a sympathetic face.

  “I am not your enemy. Our goal is the same in that we both want the Gloom destroyed. The difference between us is that I know how to do it,
” he said.

  “Who are you?” Marybeth said. She removed her wet cloak and wrung out her shirt.

  “I am who I need to be.” He looked up as he spoke and instantly his face morphed into that of an older man. His forehead wrinkled and his teeth yellowed. Marybeth stumbled away from him in shock. Her eyes fixated as his face became smooth again but this time taking on the appearance of a woman, with full lips and long lashes. “I am ruthless to those who only respond to strength and kind to my allies.” His face continued to change before finally he altered his appearance to replicate her own looks.

  Marybeth gasped. She struggled to control her breathing. Never before had she encountered magic such as this. She doubted even Iskandar could perform such trickery. He smiled as his face altered back to its original appearance.

  “My intention is not to alarm you. I merely want you to take me seriously and hear what I have to say,” he said and offered her an apple.

  Behind Marybeth the horse whinnied and stamped the ground as if to warn her from taking it. She heard the river flowing behind her and thought of the fish, wishing she could join them in their pointless lives.

  The sun was now at its zenith in the sky and the heat quickly dried her skin. Her shirt had already begun to harden as it dried in places. Marybeth did not take the apple but she made no move to leave either. “What do you know of stopping the Gloom?” she said at last.

  The stranger shrugged and then took a bite from the apple as if to prove there was nothing wrong with it. He took his time chewing as if he was deciding where to begin.

  “Have you ever heard of the Chamber of Scrolls?” he said at last. Marybeth snorted before she realised the man was serious.

  “In myths and bedtime stories only,” she said and was irritated when he raised his eyebrows expecting her to continue. “It is supposedly a hidden room that the founding members of the Order built to guard all of Frindoth’s secrets from the Lakisdorians and the Gloom. It is a romantic fairy tale like the utopia that is said to exist on the other side of the Calipion Range.”

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the rumour of the latter, but I can assure you the Chamber of Scrolls is no myth.”

  Marybeth laughed and shook her head. “And why are you so sure of its existence?” she said.

  “Because I know where it is located,” the stranger said, popping the last of the apple in his mouth.

  Marybeth regarded the stranger for a while. She did not know what to make of him. She had no doubt he was being serious, but the possibility that the Chamber actually existed seemed ludicrous.

  “You’ve been there?” she whispered. She hated the tone of reverence in her voice.

  The stranger, however, chose to ignore her question and motioned for the young woman to sit again. This time when he offered her some bread she took it. She was surprised at the warmth of the loaf and how soft it was. If she didn’t know any better she would have sworn the bread had just come fresh from a baker’s oven. The moist loaf melted in her mouth.

  Attracted by the smell, her horse looked over longingly. The stranger did not even look up as he cast the remains of his apple in the mare’s direction. It was greedily gobbled up.

  “Within the Chamber there are hundreds of scrolls. Some contain cryptic messages that do not mean very much at all. Others contain mysteries that are no longer relevant in these times but there are scrolls that contain secrets men would die for. If I tell you where the Chamber is, you must take only the one scroll that pertains to the Gloom. Stealing any other scroll will result in your death.”

  Marybeth was flabbergasted. How could he possibly know all of this? Why did the Order not know of its existence? Unless … As if reading her thoughts, the man tenderly placed a hand on her own. She flinched instinctively and then cursed herself for doing so.

  “If you don’t already know, I am sure you will find out that Iskandar is not always forthcoming about what he does or does not know.”

  At the mention of the leader of the Order’s name, Marybeth opened her mouth to speak. The stranger, however, headed her off, “I told you I don’t like to be questioned.” Marybeth flapped her mouth like a fish, caught between ignoring his threat and satisfying her curiosity.

  “Why are you telling me this?” she said at last. A brace of carrion landed on a tree nearby. One of them cawed loudly whilst the other cocked its head as if intrigued by the question she had asked.

  “I want you to obtain the scroll, learn how to defeat the Gloom and then do exactly that. It is what your father believed in and it is what has motivated you since your father’s death. I am just giving you the means to do it.”

  Marybeth brushed the crumbs from her tunic and stared at the river in front of her. The water flowed past, oblivious to the life she led. Its only aim was to rush to an unknown destination and get there as quickly as possible, without compromise.

  It was true. This is what she had always wanted—a way to defeat the Gloom and end the oppression of Frindoth. Joining the Order had been a means to an end, she needed to find out the truth about her father’s death and seek justice for it.

  “Why not you?” This time it was Marybeth that raised her hand before the man could speak. “I know you don’t like to be questioned, but if you wish me to do this, I deserve to know why you can’t do it yourself or why I should believe what you are saying.”

  The man’s face darkened. His eyes shifted colour from green, to blue, to red before he regained some composure.

  “Let’s just say that I was once part of the Order but was asked to leave because of my beliefs. As a result, it is better if I keep my existence a secret for now.”

  Marybeth nodded but the answer had left her feeling uncomfortable.

  “There is also the small matter of my duty. I need to be in Longcombe to escort those selected to the Ritual,” she said.

  The man smiled revealing perfect white teeth.

  “That will not be a problem,” the stranger said as he unfurled a parchment before her to reveal a map of Frindoth.

  Chapter 3

  Rhact stared into the dying embers of the fire at the Green Stag Tavern as he lifted his tankard and downed the last dregs of his ale. Wiping the froth away from his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic, he looked around. It was busy tonight, as it always was now summer had begun. He knew virtually everyone sat at the various tables scattered around the bar.

  Banbury Wilmot, the owner of the tavern, arranged the tables so that none of them were facing the same direction. Every morning he would move the tables; he believed that if he did this, no regulars could object to strangers unwittingly sitting in “their” normal seats. Rhact actually thought the idea was quite clever as it also meant that the clientele were never separated by class, as they were in some of the other inns throughout the town.

  Andre Hollington, a large black man surrounded by young girls, raised his tankard in salute to Rhact from the other side of the inn when he saw him looking around. Rhact nodded in response.

  “Here we go, my friend, final one for the road,” a full tankard was placed before him along with a small glass of clear liquid.

  “Thanks, Mertyn,” Rhact said as he watched his friend squeeze into the seat opposite with an exaggerated groan. Although still considered young, Mertyn was displaying the first signs of ageing. His strawberry blond hair prominently displayed the first streaks of grey in it. The scar above his brown eyes had now faded to a thin white line.

  “What’s on your mind?” Mertyn asked.

  “How do you know there is something on my mind?” Rhact said.

  “You think I don’t know by now when there is something on my friend’s mind? See this old scar? It’s given me special powers to see into the mind of the thug that gave it to me. Come on, tell old Mertyn Brooker.”

  Rhact smiled at the memory. Things had been different when they were children, less to worry about and more to dream about. The two of them had been playing with a self-made slingshot. Mertyn bet
Rhact he couldn’t hit him with his best shot from twenty feet away. Rhact had taken the bet and spent ages lining up the stone. He measured the path of the stone’s trajectory, his tongue between his teeth concentrating.

  He settled for aiming two feet above Mertyn’s head and let fly. He knew instantly as the stone whistled towards his best friend that it was the perfect shot. He shouted at Mertyn to duck but Mertyn was either too stupid or too ignorant to move.

  The stone connected with Mertyn’s head and he fell instantly. Rhact had screamed with panic thinking he’d killed his friend. After a couple of frantic minutes spent pacing up and down with his fist in his mouth, Rhact was relieved when Mertyn had come to, despite the blood seeping from the wound. Rhact had helped him to his feet and whilst he was concerned for the way Mertyn had to lean on him because his legs were so wobbly, Mertyn was full of excitement at Rhact’s shooting ability and was already planning what he could aim at next. Both of them got spanked with a wooden paddle when they got home. Rhact always thought that was particularly unfair on Mertyn.

  “Well, smug man, there is nothing on my mind, I was actually remembering how I inflicted that sorry scar on your ugly mug.”

  “Luck was how,” Mertyn replied.

  Rhact laughed, he knew Mertyn was in awe of his ability with a slingshot or a sword. Since that day he’d seen Rhact demonstrate his accuracy too many times and even save their lives on occasion.

  Mertyn drank a couple of mouthfuls, peering at Rhact as he did. Rhact looked away, trying to concentrate on something at the bar. Behind it Banbury was wiping some glasses and then holding them up against the light of the fire looking for smear marks.

  “Something is up!” Mertyn said. Rhact knew Mertyn would not drop the subject.

  “It’s nothing, just got this feeling.”

  “That is the ale doing that, save your amorous affection until you get home to Kiana, I’m too tired.”

  Mertyn wore a puzzled expression as his teasing only invoked a weak smile from Rhact.