Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth)

by Donovan, Rob

  Velvet curtains blocked out most of the sun, letting in only a slither of light where they joined in the middle. Frendel knew the shades were drawn not to prevent him from seeing out, but so that others could not witness what went on inside.

  When the city guards found him, they were prepared to mete out their own form of punishment. It was only the captain that prevented them after seeing the stone. He had cursed Frendel and thumped him over the head with the hilt of his sword. The next thing Frendel knew, he was in this carriage.

  Across from him sat a laconic guard who stared at him for the whole journey. Frendel eyed the crossbow in the guard’s hand. The man’s finger was poised on the trigger. The weapon was your standard model issued to the guards of Serbaton, made from elm and coated in glue that gave it a shiny new appearance. The guard had maintained the mechanism well.

  The guard noticed Frendel looking at the bow, and turned it so that the cocked arrow was pointed at Frendel’s face. He raised his eyebrows in an amused expression. Frendel snorted at the guard’s bluster.

  “I can smell the apprehension oozing out of your pores,” Frendel said.

  “Is that so?” the guard replied.

  “Definitely. Why else would you be holding that crossbow as if your life depended on it?” he sneered.

  As he spoke, he twisted the pick in the lock and heard a satisfying click as the manacles unlocked. The guard was too intent on replying to notice.

  “Maybe I am just waiting for you to give me the slightest excuse to use it,” the guard said. Frendel flexed his hands behind his back, relieved to be free.

  “Is that why they left you alone with me? Your itchy trigger finger? I know you can’t kill me because of the stone, but I have no doubt you intend to give me a savage beating. I suppose the other twenty guards outside are waiting for you to tell them the deed is done?” he said.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You are only considered important enough for three other guards,” the guard said.

  Frendel looked at the man and beamed. The guard smiled back, unaware of his mistake. So there were four of them all together. This was going to be easy.

  * * *

  Ulric von Coolidge kept his head down and the hood covering his face as he travelled along the main road. The traffic had become busier as he approached Lilyon. He had expected this, but with four days still to go, not to this degree. Hundreds of people were making their way along the main road to the White City, all of them talking excitedly about the same thing—the Ritual. For many, this was not only the first time they might glimpse the Gloom, but was the first time that they would have seen Lilyon.

  Ulric urged his horse off the road and ascended a small hill. For the first time that day, he lowered his hood and allowed the sun to touch his face. He basked in the warmth briefly before covering his head again. Even though he had been away for many years, he was sure people would recognise him. After all, how many men could there be with an eye patch and silver hair?

  He looked towards the North gate. Already there was a long queue of people waiting to be granted permission to enter the city. Ulric knew they were all being searched for hidden weapons. Normally, this would not have been an issue, but on the day of the Ritual, weapons were not allowed in case anyone foolishly took it upon themselves to attack the Gloom and risk incurring its wrath.

  The towers all had their flags raised, representing the twelve lands of Frindoth. Despite, his hatred for people, Ulric could not help but admire the beautiful city. The smell of spices, meat and even ale wafted over the walls.

  The setting brought it all back to him. The last time the Ritual took place he had been a knight of King Jacquard. On that occasion he had not seen the Gloom. Instead he had offered to police the gates. He did not share in the morbid interest to see the beast that terrorized Frindoth.

  That day a young girl had been selected and devoured. Ulric could not get over the transformation in the people that passed him at the gates. They entered, much like they were doing now, full of excitement and anticipation as if they were going to see a play or an arena fight. When they left, though, the mood was completely different. They shuffled out, looking sullen faced and remorseful, witnesses to a spectacle they wished they had never had seen. Whereas the din on their arrival had been deafening, upon departure they were hushed and the mood sombre.

  He looked down at all the people travelling now. Even up on the hill, their voices reached him; it sounded like a swarm of bees droning around a honey tree. They had no idea their lives were about to change for the worse. They would forever remember the Ritual for all the wrong reasons, awakening in the night with the screams of the poor unfortunate victim selected. Maybe his screams!

  As he descended the hill, he thought of seeing Jacquard again. He had gladly served the bastard up until four years ago. The last time they had spoken he’d told Jacquard that if he ever returned to Lilyon, it would be in a casket. He acknowledged the irony as he queued up for the possibility of his death.

  * * *

  Anastas was devastated, a complete and utter emotional wreck. At first she was unable to comprehend the significance of the stone Master Worrell had held up in front of her. It was only Ghorum’s terrified reaction as he dropped to his knees and let out an anguished howl that prompted her memory.

  Of course it was the Ritual. It was all Mikel had been talking about during his brief visits recently. As a knight of the realm, he was required to supervise the Ritual and be on hand in case the Gloom attacked anyone other than the chosen one.

  She had been too dumbfounded to move. She didn’t deserve this; today was supposed to be the day all of her dreams came true.

  “Shall we go and meet your knight in shining armour, my dear child? I am sure you will want to tell him your news. I can see why they call him the ‘Cadaver Knight’ now,” Master Worrell had gloated.

  He stood in front of both of them, carelessly tossing the stone up into the air and then catching it again. Anastas felt her blood run cold. She hated him, how could anyone be so cruel? It appeared Ghorum felt the same way, as he charged at his master yielding the first weapon he could lay his hands on—a frying pan.

  Before he got to him, though, two of Master Worrell’s bodyguards appeared out of nowhere and wrestled Ghorum to the ground. Anastas was not even aware they were lurking outside. She should have known better, though; Master Worrell never went anywhere without his two brutes. Both were twice the size of him, their arms bigger than their boss’s head.

  Ghorum was hauled to his knees as Master Worrell picked up the frying pan and faced her friend. He was supposed to tower over Ghorum, but even on his knees, Ghorum was nearly as tall as him. The sight would have been almost comical if it had not been for the malevolent look in Master Worrell’s eyes. Without hesitating, he cracked the pan across Ghorum’s skull. Anastas screamed and rushed to Ghorum. He was motionless, a trickle of blood flowed from his ear. Please don’t let him be dead, please, please, please.

  “Bring her outside,” Master Worrell barked.

  Anastas found herself being dragged away from her friend’s body. She struggled to fight the bodyguards but it was a futile effort, they were far too strong. Their hands held her like iron manacles. She had been overcome by a sense of hopelessness. In a matter of minutes, her world had come crashing down around her.

  She was led outside sobbing, demanding to know if Ghorum was still alive. It was then she saw Mikel dismounting from Dusk and running towards her.

  “What is the meaning of this? Unhand her at once!” he shouted.

  The two bodyguards sought their master’s approval before complying. She ran into his arms and burrowed her face in his armour. She had never felt so ashamed. Ashamed at how she must have looked to him on the day he had come to collect her. A sobbing, dishevelled maid. Ashamed she had nothing to offer him other than her love and, most of all, ashamed that fate had decreed she might be sacrificed before their love could truly blossom. She had buried her head in his
chest and never wanted to look up at the cruel world again.

  “I’m afraid your true love has received some very disconcerting news,” Master Worrell said.

  She heard the stone land with a thud at the Cadaver Knight’s feet. She felt Mikel tense in her arms and heard the shriek of metal as he began to draw his sword. She steadied his hand.

  “Please, just take me away from here,” she said. For an awful moment she thought he was going to ignore her; she could feel him begin to shake in anger. “Please,” she said again.

  She looked at her lover and was shocked by the intensity she saw in his eyes. There was a hardness there that sent a chill down her spine. After a while, Mikel obliged and sheathed his sword but not before pointing his finger at Master Worrell and his two bodyguards and vowing that he would return. Anastas had little doubt he would.

  Fourteen days later, they approached the white walls where her fate would be determined. Mikel was a different knight from the one she remembered riding on Dusk with. He was not the carefree man she had been courting. He no longer promised her the world nor aimed to make her laugh at every opportunity. Now he had an almost invidious manner to him.

  The good humour was gone, replaced with a duty to the realm to take her to Lilyon. He was firmly in the mindset of a knight and not of her lover. He had taken her to his home in Rivervale, but as soon as they arrived, he made his excuses to leave. When he did return, she tried to make light of her situation, dreamily saying she was not worried because her knight would protect her. He had smiled at her, but the smile did not reach his eyes. She quickly realised that he was not the knight she thought he was.

  Grayhem, his squire whom she had only met on a couple of previous occasions, had picked up on his mood and tried to engage Anastas in menial conversation, but she was not interested in tedious talk. It was her knight she wanted.

  By midday, the White City could be seen on the horizon. The city Mikel had talked so excitedly about only weeks before, now held none of the mystique and splendour she imagined. Instead it symbolised a prison, another place where she would be taken and held against her wishes.

  As they rode closer, Anastas withdrew into herself and dreamed of a knight that might come and rescue her.

  * * *

  The last five days had been like old times for Rhact and Mertyn. The incident with the bandits had brought back all the memories of when they had travelled together.

  The two families had been subdued immediately after escaping the bandits, but it had not been long before relief at their escape manifested in the form of laughter. They had mocked the appearance of the bandits, Brody in particular had mastered an excellent impression of the leader’s high-pitched voice which so far had not failed to make them all laugh.

  Rhact and Mertyn had taken the opportunity to regale their families with all of the stories of their youth. Some they had heard before and others for the first time, but all were warmly received.

  Rhact felt a sense of pride in how far he and Mertyn had come since those days. Here they both were, with their own families sharing the adventure of their youth. At any other time, Rhact would have been a happy man. However, an ominous shadow loomed over his head. As much as Rhact tried to pretend all was well, he could not ignore the fact he was about to betray his best friend by lying to him.

  If fate was kind, they would meet each other again, but Rhact knew in his heart that things would never be the same. He wondered if he would ever return to Longcombe and what would happen to his shop. Years of building up his trade and one incident had simply unravelled it all in the blink of an eye.

  Watching his family these last few days, he realised how much he loved them. Jensen’s friendship with Brody was exactly like his was with Mertyn. He even sensed a connection between Brenna and his son he had not noticed before. His wife seemed to cherish every conversation she had with Kiana and he would never have known from how Janna was behaving that she had received a stone. She was her usual inquisitive self, delighting in the stories and demanding no detail be left out.

  If he looked close enough, though, masked underneath their plastered smiles, the same shadow was written on all their faces. He was proud that none of his family had revealed the truth. Maybe like him, they knew it was the right thing to do. He was sure of that now. Certainly not morally, but he had a gut feeling they had to do this. It was the same feeling he had just before the witch arrived, something that he could not put his finger on. It was a persistent, soothing voice in the back of his mind that convinced him to betray his friend. Instinctively he had known to listen to the voice before and now he knew he had to obey it again.

  Since the incident with the bandits, the journey had been easy going. They had been using one of the main roads that led out of Brimsgrove but had taken their time. They had only passed into Rivervale yesterday morning. Rivervale was not too different from their home territory. It was slightly more populated and there were always other travellers on the road. Most were heading in the same direction.

  Unlike Brimsgrove, where the green fields stretched out as far as you could see, Rivervale had more buildings to break up the greenery. These buildings had tiled roofs rather than the flat tops of Longcombe. The shrubbery along the roadside appeared wilted and damaged from the many trampling feet passing this way.

  In Rivervale it was not possible to just stand still and appreciate the silence as Rhact liked doing back home. There was always some sort of noise, peasants toiling in the fields or foremen shouting orders. Even on the odd occasion when there were no other people in sight, the wildlife seemed louder.

  They had been travelling most of the morning when they came across the rickety old sign post at the junction in the road. It pointed in two opposite directions, to Lilyon the White City and the other to Boscalt, a small but friendly town nearby. Rhact had been there a few times when his business had been slow, in an attempt to get rid of his stock. The sign had fallen slightly so the arrow directing travellers to Lilyon actually pointed to the ground.

  Lilyon was less than three days journey from this point. He made eye contact with Kiana who nodded quickly to indicate she knew what he was thinking. The mood had not been as jovial this morning, Jensen was noticeably laconic and a couple of times had snapped at Rhact.

  “This is as far as we are going to go, my friend,” Rhact said.

  The others all looked up sharply, surprised by his statement. Jensen scowled at his father, whilst Janna merely looked down, suddenly finding interest in a nail that was jutting up from the wagon floor.

  “Oh,” was all Mertyn could say.

  Rhact got down from his seat and indicated Mertyn should walk with him.

  When they were out of earshot from the others, Rhact repeated the statement to his friend.

  “I think Brody needs to be with his immediate family in Lilyon, my friend,” Rhact said weakly.

  “He thinks you are his immediate family,” Mertyn said.

  “I know, but I have to think of my own children too. I’m sure you’ve noticed Jensen’s dark mood this morning.”

  The two of them looked back towards their families who were all sitting silently on the wagons looking back at them. Jensen had a look of hatred in his eyes that took Rhact aback. This explanation seemed to convince Mertyn.

  “I guess if I were in your position, I would not want my family to see their friend face that … thing.”

  Mertyn fought back tears. Rhact knew his friend was picturing Brody being devoured by the Gloom. It was an image that Rhact had tried to push from his mind.

  “Don’t let them see you weep,” Rhact said. Mertyn nodded, but even as he did, tears streamed down his face. “You know if it was just me here now, I would go with you all the way, don’t you?” It was the truth but it felt like such an awful lie.

  “I know you would,” Mertyn said and then hugged Rhact. When they drew apart, Mertyn held out his hand. Inside were two silver coins. “You were right that night in the Green Stag. Mertyn Bro
oker always pays up on his bets.”

  Rhact’s stomach lurched. He took the money but for a moment could not speak.

  “You be brave for your family, they need you now,” he finally said.

  “As do yours. You just make sure the welcome home party is the best Longcombe has ever seen,” Mertyn said although there was no humour in his tone. The comment sent chills through Rhact’s heart. For a horrible moment he thought he was going to be sick.

  “May the three moons shine upon you, my friend,” Rhact managed to say.

  When the two friends returned to their wagons, the others had already started saying their good-byes. To the astonishment of the others, Jensen and Brenna kissed passionately. There was an awkward moment where everyone just stood staring with stupid grins on their faces, before Rhact broke the spell by hugging Tyra and Brenna, urging them to be strong.

  Rhact turned to Brody and embraced him. He considered the boy his second son. The magnitude of what Rhact was doing suddenly hit him. His knees went weak and Brody had to support him.

  “We’re so proud of you, Brode. You are such an incredibly brave man. You make us all proud.”

  “You’ve been like a father to me. If my sacrifice protects your family, then it is my honour to do it.”

  From over Brody’s shoulder Rhact could see Jensen staring at him in disgust.

  Chapter 15

  It was a glorious day. The sun beat down relentlessly on the city square. There was a light breeze, which did little to lower the temperature but was enough to cause the nooses hanging from the gallows to sway back and forth. In the middle of Lilyon’s city square, the bronze statue erected by Gregorian shone brilliantly. It depicted a man in a supplicant pose, on one bended knee, holding an outstretched hand to the Ritual waterfall. From his palm spouted a fountain of water that fell into a small pool at the figure’s base. Set in the stone wall surrounding the fountain were twelve jewels, representing the twelve stones of the Ritual.

  These jewels, however, were difficult to see due to the mass of people congregating in the square. The newly constructed stand was an out and out success, packed full of the wealthiest families Frindoth had to offer.