by Donovan, Rob
“Don’t listen to a word this trickster says!” Jaegal yelled, causing a stir amongst the crowd. “He is making it all up as he goes along. I never received a stone and look at me, bound before you, because on a whim, the Order has decreed that I take the place of the dead woman who received the stone.”
One of the guards ushering him to the gallows tried to clamp his hand over Jaegal’s mouth. Jaegal bit down on his fingers, causing him to scream in agony.
“Hear me, Frindothians. This Ritual is a farce,” Jaegal said. “Marybeth of the Order has not yet shown up. The Gloom will see this and destroy us all. The only way to appease it will be to destroy all of the stone h—”
It was Mondorlous that eventually silenced him. He rammed a cloth in his friend’s mouth, and then fastened it in place. Jacquard felt a pang of sympathy as he saw Jaegal’s eyes go wide with fear, as the cloth caused him to gag. Tears trickled down his cheeks and he pleaded with Mondorlous to take the gag out. Mondorlous, however, was unmoved by his desperation and made an elaborate show of reaching into Jaegal’s pocket to remove the stone and place it in the black bag.
“I never received a stone either,” the blood-soaked man crowed, although it was obvious he was jumping on the bandwagon. Delmut followed Mondorlous’s example and placed a gag in his mouth as well.
The damage had been done, however. The crowd was openly muttering their protests. It was one thing for an ordinary citizen to make such accusations knowing they could be about to die, but when a member of the Order, the bastion of truth in Frindoth, there to serve and protect its people, made such accusations, the people were less inclined to believe he was behaving invidiously. Eventually, the mumblings of the crowds turned into open defiance.
“We demand the truth,” said an angry male voice from the crowd that was met with several cheers of approval.
“For too long we have accepted the Order’s word. Where is the proof?” a woman cried out to more cheers of agreement.
“Cut them down,” someone else shouted, which was then taken up with a feverish chant that reverberated around the square. “Cut them down, cut them down.”
Jacquard shifted uneasily in his seat. The last thing they all needed was an open revolt on the day of the Ritual.
“People of Frindoth,” Iskandar shouted. “I assure you that the Ritual is absolutely necessary …”
His words, however, were drowned out by the chanting mob. We are losing control, Jacquard thought. Several of his knights instructed the guards to circle around the crowd in an attempt to control them, should they get too unruly. Jacquard could see Iskandar contemplating whether or not to silence them. That is the last thing he should do. A display of his power will only increase their fear.
The king was too intent on the scene to be aware of Althalos next to him. It wasn’t until Jacquard noticed several heads start to turn his way and then registering a state of shock on their faces that he realised what Althalos had done.
His son stood on his chair and held the white stone above his head for all to see. Slowly the chanting began to die away until once more a silence consumed the square.
“If this Ritual is such a farce and Iskandar is indeed making it up as he goes along, then I ask you, why would he risk the king’s wrath by giving a stone to the prince,” Althalos said. There was a slight tremble to his voice as he addressed the crowd but he projected it well. “I can assure you all. The Ritual is very real and Iskandar is responsible for nothing more than ensuring that it is conducted in the way it has always been. History has shown us that it is unwise to incite the fury of the Gloom, I beg you.”
With that, Jacquard sat frozen as Althalos slowly got down from his throne and kissed him on the cheek, before making his way to the gallows. Jacquard swelled with pride as the people parted for him and knelt on one knee in a show of respect. Thoughts of his son’s possible demise were momentarily forgotten.
Iskandar, for his part, pushed Delmut to one side and personally secured the prince to the gallows, before kneeling himself in front of Althalos.
Nine of the twelve stoneholders had now been strung up. Althalos had chosen the noose next to the hard-faced man, respectfully keeping his distance from Ulric. Three nooses ominously swung back and forth between them. Jacquard glanced to the sky, the sun shone brilliantly down upon them all. It couldn’t be long before it was time.
“I don’t like this,” Jefferson whispered in his ear.
“What happens if the other three do not show?” Jacquard asked. Jefferson shrugged, he stood up to get a better view of the crowd; as he did so his joints cracked.
“I don’t know. It has never happened before. Only Iskandar knows.”
Jacquard looked at the leader of the Order. Iskandar was waiting patiently at the platform steps, both arms resting behind his back, so that he was almost mimicking those that were tied to the gallows. He looked relaxed and in control. He is keeping something from me.
He realised that since Iskandar had begun the Ritual, he had not looked at his King once. He beckoned Jefferson to his side.
“What do you make of Iskandar’s behaviour?”
He watched Jefferson regard the leader of the Order and then look back at him with a confused expression.
“Nothing unusual, my lord, why?”
Frustrated, Jacquard waved him away.
“Tell Longshaw to protect Althalos if anything goes wrong.”
“Sire?”
Jacquard looked at him to convey he was deadly serious.
“He is the prince. Do not play into Vashna’s hands.”
“Of course, my lord,” Jefferson said and then hobbled off to talk to Longshaw. Below him, Jacquard saw Iskandar’s eyes flick towards him and then back to the crowd. The leader of the Order then licked his lips nervously. He’s definitely hiding something.
Chapter 16
On the east coast of Rora, the Baceid Ocean was famous for the way the waves fell upon the shore. Here, for some reason, when the waves receded deep into the sea bed, they seemed to pause an abnormal amount of time before crashing upon the sandy beach.
Iskandar believed this had something to do with the blue moon but Jacquard was not convinced. Pewtory, a famous bard in the distant past, had described the action as “Rora holding its breath before the madness came.”’ Over the years a common phrase was coined by Frindothians to apply this description to everyday life. It was known quite simply as “Rora’s breath.”
Jacquard thought “Rora’s breath” had never been more evident than it was in the market square at the moment. Everyone seemed strangely quiet. An air of expectancy consumed the crowd. It was as if everyone automatically sensed the Gloom was about to make its entrance. No one moved, not even shuffling to stand in a better position. Even those of the nine stoneholders that had been crying ceased their tears.
Jacquard could not take his eyes off his son. He looked so young and vulnerable all of a sudden. As much as he tried to appear unconcerned, Jacquard could see Althalos was scared out of his mind. The prince’s bottom lip was trembling despite his efforts to keep it still.
Jacquard wanted nothing more than to go and comfort his son. The other stoneholders displayed similar signs of fear. The black man was still singing, although Jacquard could hear no sound coming from him. The young girl looked around anxiously, her head jerking roughly as she did so. Only the hard faced man and the blood soaked man on the end seemed immune to the inevitability of their situation. They both stood still and waited patiently.
Jacquard looked at Iskandar. He still hadn’t looked his way. Something very bad was about to happen. Three people still had not shown and the Gloom’s arrival was imminent. What can I do? I put my faith in the Order to escort the stoneholders to the waterfall. They’ve never failed me before. What am I supposed to do? Jacquard noticed that one or two of the people below him were looking at him expectantly for the answers. I have no answers. What do you want from me?
And then, it did not matter.
> Despite there not being a cloud in the sky, the natural daylight suddenly dimmed. The sky dulled as if the sun had gone behind a dense cloud. Gloomier, Jacquard thought. Shapes and shadows became distorted. Mesmerized, no one moved.
It came out of nowhere, an almost transparent silhouette, feline in shape, powerfully strolling on four legs towards the gallows. Not everyone saw it at first and had to have it pointed out by those standing next to them. Even then, some people still struggled to make it out.
As it reached the foot of the steps, it reared onto its hind legs where it morphed into a humanoid figure before ascending the stairs. It was a glimmer of grey light, only visible because of the way it distorted the background behind it. Jacquard likened the movement to a raindrop trickling over the surface of a leaf. The Gloom was bigger than it had been twelve years ago but no less daunting. Memories of the last Ritual, that he had tried desperately to erase, now came thundering back into his mind.
At the top of the steps, the shimmer stopped and surveyed the crowd. Two burning red eyes could now be seen staring out of thin air. There was a collective gasp as it looked over everyone. Jacquard thought it took in every single face in that one sweeping motion, assessing everyone, sorting out the weak from the strong.
He felt the urge to flee. A totally selfish impulse that at once he felt disgusted for feeling. His son was up there. These were his people, yet the dread he felt made him want to protect himself and only himself. He wondered if others felt the same, but he was too transfixed by the abhorrent entity to look.
The Gloom turned its attention towards those hanging from the nooses. It towered over all of them. It approached the boy on the end first. As it stood in front of him, Jacquard was appalled to notice the boy was still visible through the Gloom. His features were magnified as the creature appeared to sniff every inch of his body.
The boy who could have been Althalos’s age tried his best to be brave by squeezing his eyes shut as if willing the Gloom away. Jacquard’s heart went out to him as a sob escaped his lips and tears trickled down his face, looking twice the size they normally would. From the crowd the boy’s mother protested weakly.
The Gloom turned sharply, its red eyes finding her straight away. It then did something that chilled Jacquard to his core. It smiled at her, a set of white fangs suddenly appearing beneath the scarlet eyes and a purple forked tongue slithered over their surface.
The Gloom continued along the line. The elderly black man ceased singing and lost control of his bowels. Ulric von Coolidge did not fare too much better. Here was a man Jacquard had seen surrounded by a group of the most ferocious warriors and had laughed in their faces. However, when the Gloom stood before him, his face lost all colour and he squirmed to get away.
The Gloom then came to the empty nooses. It studied them closely before looking sharply at Iskandar. This was it, the first time that the Ritual had not been strictly adhered to. Spare us, you monstrosity. For the three moons’ sake, spare us. He had never felt such a failure as a king in all of his reign.
The Gloom had no intention of sparing anyone, though. It raised its arms up to the sky and a piercing screech filled the air. It was like no other sound Jacquard had ever heard before, a shrill sound that caused people to cover their ears.
Several of the crowd fell to their knees, crying out screams of their own. Jacquard himself flung the palms of his hands to his ears which felt as if someone had set them on fire. He noticed several crows take to the air from the stanchion of the stand and felt envious they could so easily escape the terrible noise. However, the birds seemed unable to fly correctly and veered off into the library walls, falling to the ground with a thud. He saw the hens in their cages go berserk as they rammed into the metal bars in an effort to break free.
The unbearable noise forced him to his knees. He looked over at his son and noticed the pain etched on his face. He realised it was worse for the nine stoneholders, who were next to the Gloom and could not cover their ears. The elderly woman’s head had lolled on her shoulders and it was unclear whether she was still standing on her own, or if the noose was holding her up.
“YOU FAIL ME? I DEMAND ONE BODY OF FLESH AND BONE EVERY TWELVE YEARS AND YOU FAIL ME?”
The words filled Jacquard’s mind, although he was sure the Gloom had not spoken out loud. Around him, people rolled on the floor in agony. Some had blood seeping from their ears. He could feel the rage of the Gloom pulsating through his body causing his face to burn as he shivered uncontrollably at the same time. Jacquard felt as if his head was being battered by an unseen force at every angle imaginable.
Awful images ran through his mind: bodies being eaten by wolves; skin slashed open; crystal clear rivers contaminated with blood; his wife’s crushed skull lying underneath a horse. As these scenes flashed through his mind, the only thing that remained in each of the images were two terrible red eyes floating in the sky.
After what seemed like an excessive amount of time, the screeching stopped. Immediately the pressure within his head ceased. Disorientated, Jacquard staggered to his feet. Jefferson put an arm around his shoulders to steady him. Why am I in worse shape than you? he thought as he looked at his flustered friend. The older man barely showed any signs of discomfort.
“Where did it go?” Jefferson asked.
Confused, Jacquard looked towards the gallows. The Gloom was nowhere to be seen. He searched a while more to make sure, but it was definitely no longer on the platform. If it is not there, then where is it?
A piercing scream answered his thoughts. From within the stand, the Gloom held a man by his throat. His feet were not touching the ground. If it was not for the fact that Jacquard could just make out the faint grey silhouette against the people seated behind it, he would have sworn the man was just hovering by himself.
The man desperately tried to prise the Gloom’s grip from around his throat. But to the man’s dismay, where the Gloom’s hands should have been, the man just clasped thin air. Some brave onlookers tried to help the man, but they too found their attempts to wrestle the Gloom as futile as tackling smoke.
Jacquard watched in horror, as slowly, excruciatingly, the Gloom pinched the man’s cheek and slowly peeled off a strip of skin down to the neck. The man howled in vain as he attempted to put his skin back in place. The shadow nightmare continued to pull more skin away from bone. Pandemonium broke out as people scrambled to get away. The crowd fled from the bloody scene. Bodies fell beneath onrushing feet and were crushed. Market stalls were pushed over and trampled on. Fine pots and jewellery smashed as they hit the floor. The panicked cries of hundreds of people echoed throughout the square.
The city guards were helpless against the masses. Some tried to restore order and evacuate the square in a safe fashion, but before long even the guards surrendered to the chaos and fled with the masses. Jacquard noticed a couple of his men abandon all pretence of protecting the city and flee themselves. Their cowardice angered him.
The Gloom discarded the lifeless body to one side and seemed to vanish. The shadowy entity emerged on the other side of the square where it sent bodies flying head over heels. It had morphed again into its feline form and bit the head clean off one woman’s shoulders before moving on to its next victim. The body stood upright for a few seconds before collapsing in a heap.
The re-emergence of the Gloom by the library entrance sent the panicked herd of people hurtling in another direction. The way they shifted direction reminded Jacquard of a flock of birds swooping away from a hunting falcon.
He absorbed the chaos around him for a few moments more before snapping to attention.
“Longshaw, Mikel to me,” he said.
Longshaw obeyed immediately but was distracted by the scenes unfolding around him. Mikel hesitated briefly, glancing over at his lover on the gallows. However, when he spoke again, they both snapped to attention.
“Send the word out to open all of the city gates!” he said. He could see the uncertainty in their eyes. As a ru
le, only two gates were ever permitted to be opened at any one time. This was to control the flow of traffic in and out of Lilyon. “Do it, we don’t want this place to become a blood bath,” he barked.
The two knights tapped their left shoulders in salute and ran off. The Gloom disappeared down the path by the library, leaving a trail of corpses in its wake.
“My king, what about Vashna? If we open all of the gates, we will be vulnerable to attack. Anyone may enter in the chaos,” Jefferson said, grabbing his arm. Jacquard shrugged his friend’s hand off irritably.
“Let them enter. If they are stupid enough to come when that thing is roaming about, then so be it.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” Jefferson said. He grabbed Jacquard’s arm a second time, however, “We must get you to safety.”
“I am not deserting my son,” Jacquard said.
“I will make sure he is safe. You are the king, Frindoth needs you now more than ever. We must get you to safety.”
As he spoke, he signalled for two guards to accompany him. Jacquard looked at his son who was watching him. He knew perfectly well the discussion Jacquard was having and nodded his agreement.
“I am putting my son’s life in your hands,” he said to Jefferson at last.
He looked once more at his son and began to turn away. As he did so, a man struggling against the tide of people caught his attention. He recognised that it was the father of the boy who was first to be strung up. He was heading towards the gallows with a knife in his mouth, no doubt to cut his son down.
Jacquard saw Iskandar had noticed him too and was surprised to see Mondorlous move to the edge of the platform to block his path. The father began to argue with the giant of a man and was knocked to the floor. Whilst this was happening, Iskandar spoke urgently to Delmut who nodded as a sly grin formed on his ugly face.