by Donovan, Rob
Marybeth had chosen this path because it was quick and she did not fear anyone that might try their luck at attacking her. Now as the wagon jolted in yet another hole in the road causing her to bump her already bruised arm, she doubted the wisdom in her choice.
She had two of the three stones she needed. Her next step was to reconvene with Janna. It was unfortunate she had to dispose of Ucking Jhon and Mira, but it was necessary. If her scheme did not work and the Gloom was to be appeased, all twelve stoneholders must be sacrificed.
That just left Janna. She needed the girl for bait. When the time was right, she would take her from her family.
She wondered whether Iskandar had survived the burning city. No doubt he had, he was too powerful to fall victim to whatever had gone on at the Ritual. Especially considering there were hundreds of people there he could use as a shield if need be. Her thoughts wandered to her father and Iskandar, to a past that had begun so happily.
When Iskandar had led her and her father to the house that needed renovating, Marybeth’s mouth fell open. They had taken a full morning to reach it, most of which was spent descending into a valley. It was the oddest house she had ever seen. She was not even sure it could be called a house.
It was a wooden structure, built inside a cave. It was quite clever, she supposed. If Iskandar had not led them directly to it, she would have missed it. Her father had taken one look at the dwelling and told Iskandar in no uncertain terms he would not allow his daughter to live there for the next couple of months. Iskandar nodded as if he expected this answer and said he would make arrangements for them to stay in the finest inn at Pranbury.
And so a new chapter in her life began. Her father would get up at the crack of dawn, travel to the cave and work until dusk. At first she did not mind, she missed her father but knowing she would be staying in Pranbury for a while allowed her to take an interest in the town and make new friends.
Her days were filled with joining in with the town’s children as they played their games (she got very good at ballhunt) or helping them do their chores. In truth, she loved every minute of it. Despite the white skulls painted on the townsfolk’s faces, she felt part of a community for the first time in her life. In the evenings, her father would come home and it would be their time together.
To begin with, she did not notice the change in her father’s behaviour. He would come home and talk about how the construction was going. He would always talk about Iskandar. He would mutter to himself in between taking huge bites out of a leg of lamb.
“Peculiar man, that Iskandar, peculiar,” he would say. When Marybeth would question him on just what he found strange about Iskandar, he would look at her surprised as if he did not mean to speak out loud. He would then evade the question by asking her about her day. Over the weeks that followed, Marybeth noticed the references to Iskandar went from “peculiar” to “fascinating” and then to “extremely knowledgeable.”
Her father would never explain why he felt the way he did about Iskandar and became more and more secretive. It reached the point where Marybeth began to resent Iskandar, blaming the change in her father’s behaviour on him. On the brief occasions she met with Iskandar, she could not see what all the fuss was about. She perceived him to be a little too superior for her liking, always having an amused expression on his face whenever she spoke, as if he knew far more than her.
One morning she had got up early with her father and asked if she could see the house he had been working on. Her father had refused and said he wanted to show it to her when it was completed.
“I want to leave this place,” she blurted out as he had begun to walk away.
She instantly regretted it. She did not like showing weak emotions in front of anyone, least of all her father. Her father had been surprised by her outburst. He had walked back and knelt before her, removing his hat as he did so. It wasn’t until that moment, Marybeth realised how much he had aged in the months they had spent in Pranbury.
His long hair now had streaks of grey running through it. Round his eyes were signs of permanent wrinkles and he had stubble that was at least a couple of days’ growth. Before Pranbury he was always clean shaven.
“You’ve never said anything before. What’s brought this on?” he asked. Marybeth thought he seemed concerned but was also aware of something else, annoyance maybe that she was holding him up.
“I don’t like or trust Iskandar,” she said. Her father frowned at this and then he pursed his lips in anger.
“Iskandar is a great man,” he had said through gritted teeth. “He has been nothing but kind to us, don’t you go listening to the folk about town.”
“I haven’t,” she said defensively and it was the truth. Iskandar was not really mentioned in town. In fact, whenever she had brought him up in conversation the topic was changed immediately. Her father seemed to believe her and told her he would be finished on the house within a month and they would move on.
He wasn’t finished within a month, though. They remained in Pranbury for several more months. In fact, it was where her father was murdered.
* * *
Rhact ran through the trees jumping roots and logs that lay in his path. He had never felt so ashamed. Earlier, he had been overcome by the magnitude of his actions. As Jensen shouted at him, all he could think of was his best friend’s family and the suffering they must be enduring. Every one of Jensen’s words had stung. When Jensen had stormed off, Rhact had just sat there in self-pity.
He would have liked to have said he had been rendered immobile, that he had been temporarily so overcome with emotion he could not even lift his head, but that was not the truth. The truth was he had been weak. For a selfish moment, he did not want to be the head of the family. He wanted someone else to take control, to tell him what to do next and reassure him that everything was going to work out well.
What happened in Lilyon made him physically ill. Why had he not considered his actions? He had been so blinded by protecting his family that the consequences of not going ahead with the Ritual had never fully registered. He had pushed it out of his mind. It was not until he saw the chaos this morning that it had really rammed home. As he ran, the faint cries of the dying still resounded in his ears.
He had been searching for Jensen for over an hour now. It was Janna that prompted him into action. She had stormed off whilst he was comforting Kiana (or she was comforting him, he was not sure which). He had demanded to know where his daughter was going and she had sulkily replied that she was going to look for her brother and that someone had to make an effort to keep the family together.
Her brutal words snapped him back to reality. He had told Kiana and Janna to stay together and not stray too far from the campsite as he set off in pursuit of Jensen.
“JENSEN,” he shouted, holding his hands up to his mouth to direct his call. He listened for a response, but only the birds answered. He was a terrible father. He had placed his family in vast danger and now one of them was alone.
Now everywhere he turned, he was faced with trees. All looked much the same as the one next to it. Rays of sunlight penetrated the foliage, illuminating the forest floor. A swarm of gnats danced within its warm glow.
Rhact began to panic. He was now unsure which direction Kiana and Janna were in. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Higher, I must get higher. He selected the tallest tree which looked most accessible and scrambled up it.
His view from the treetop was disappointing. The tree was only marginally taller than those adjacent to it. Through the branches he could see the forest stretch out before him, a crumpled carpet of different shades of green. An occasional break in the foliage marked a path, but the trees were too dense to make out the forest floor. His gaze fell upon the smoke towering into the sky. For a moment the guilt returned but he forced it out of his mind. He couldn’t afford to succumb to its dark embrace. He had his son to find.
“JEEEEEENNNNNSSEEEEEEENNNNNNN,” he bellowed. To his right a flock
of sparrows took to the sky in a blur of fluttering wings and screeches.
“For someone that is supposed to be on the run, you have a unique way of not drawing attention to yourself,” a female voice said.
He recognized the witch’s voice and descended the tree amidst a flurry of leaves and broken branches, landing in a heap at the base of the trunk. She stood with her green cloak pulled back revealing her blond hair; her hand held the reins to a black horse. A familiar stirring bubbled in his stomach at the sight of her beauty.
“Elegant,” she remarked smiling. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. In anger, he grabbed his sword and charged towards her.
“Don’t be such a fool,” she said, extending a palm upwards. The sword fell harmless from his grasp as his arm went floppy. He looked at his weapon in disbelief. His hand had just lost its grip on the hilt against his will. For a moment he clenched and unclenched his fist to ensure it still operated as normal. His anger soon returned, however.
“You bitch, you’ve destroyed my family and brought about the end of Frindoth,” he said.
“I have done nothing of the sort,” she replied, tying the reins of the horse around the tree. She rounded on him and pointed at his face. “It was you who decided not to go to the Ritual.”
“With your prompting!”
“I may have led you in that direction, yes,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do? Have you not seen the smoke that has engulfed the White City? Everyone in it might have perished,” he said.
He was sure now he had done the wrong thing by not taking Janna to the Ritual, but at least he had some rationalisation behind his decision. He could not work out the motivations of this heartless woman that stood before him, however.
The witch sighed. She looked like a mother about to describe her reasoning to a child. He hated her for that look, for the way he had allowed himself to be manipulated by her. She reached inside her cloak and pulled out what looked to be a scroll and held it up so he could see.
“Because of what is written on here,” she said waving the parchment in front of his face, “I have reason to believe the Gloom can be defeated and years upon years of sacrifice and torment can be brought to a close. Of course I am aware of what has happened in Lilyon and despite what you may think of me, I am not unmoved by all of those deaths, but as far as I am concerned, the end justify the means.”
“How can you say that? A whole city might have perished because of our actions, as opposed to one death every twelve years,” Rhact said. Despite her words, Rhact could not get over how nonchalant she was. Her face portrayed no emotion whatsoever.
“And how many more dozen years would this continue for? More importantly, supposing the death this year would have been your daughter. Would you have wished that I had done nothing then?” she said.
Rhact had nothing to say to that. She was correct. Despite how difficult it was to get his head round all of the murders that had taken place this morning, if the Gloom was to be stopped, it had to start somewhere. He at least could see the logic from that point of view.
He decided whether he agreed with her or not was not important. The most important thing was finding his son and reuniting his family.
“I need to find my Jensen. Do you have any idea where he is?”
“He is heading east. I noticed a herd of deer running from something that had disturbed them but that was an hour ago. Your wife and daughter are also out by the main road. If you head east you will come across them,” she said and then noticing Rhact’s hesitation, pointed to her left, “That way.”
“You will need this,” she said handing him a bandage. “Any day now, your daughter’s hand will change colour to match that of her stone. It is to mark her as a traitor, that she did not complete her duty to Frindoth.”
Rhact was too tired to question the witch and ended up muttering his appreciation and gathering the rest of his stuff.
“I will need that stone of hers soon. I will come and collect it, when I do, I do not expect to meet any resistance,” she said.
Rhact ignored the statement, but asked her another question that had been bothering him.
“You said that you were not unmoved by what happened this morning. I am not sure I believe you. Your friends in the Order, your leader, they could be dead too, but you show no emotion whatsoever,” he said. The vehemence in her response surprised him.
“I do not regard the man who killed my father a friend.”
With that, she departed, leaving Rhact staring after her.
Chapter 18
The punch was a good one. Jacquard got the weight of his whole body behind the blow and made a solid, clean connection. The hit stung his knuckles, forcing him to shake away the pain afterwards. Iskandar lay sprawled out on the floor, blood trickling from his nostrils.
Around him, Jacquard’s knights stood poised ready to protect their king. Longshaw had positioned himself between his king and Mondorlous in case he reacted to the violence; however, the giant of a man merely looked bored by the scene unfolding in front of him.
“You deceitful bastard,” the king said. “I trusted you to conduct the Ritual and you end up killing innocent people and trying to murder my son.”
After the congestion had cleared from the market square, Jacquard retreated back to the palace hall and indicated for Iskandar to follow him. Iskandar entered a long time after by which time reports were flooding in stating the Gloom had left the city and was wreaking destruction on the neighbouring villages. There was no news on Althalos. The prince had been lost amongst the crowd and skirmishes and Jacquard had ordered Jefferson to find word on his son.
At least the man has the decency to look guilty, Jacquard thought as Iskandar got himself shakily to his feet and made a show of straightening his robe. He looked as if he was a father dealing with a difficult son and was giving him the benefit of the doubt for his actions.
“Are you fini—” he began to say, before Jacquard hit him again. This time he did not fall, but staggered back a few steps. When he regained his balance, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, staring at the blood.
“As the king, I will do the talking,” Jacquard said.
Jacquard fumed, never before had he felt so humiliated. He trusted Iskandar with the most important part of his role as a king and the man had betrayed him.
The king noticed a few of his knights look at each other in surprise. No one treated Iskandar this way. King or no king, Iskandar was a powerful man for Jacquard to be manhandling. Mondorlous remained unmoved by Jacquard’s actions. If anything he was amused, as Jacquard swore he saw his mouth twitch at the corners.
This time Iskandar gathered himself more purposefully, drawing himself up to his full height. It was clear he wouldn’t tolerate being struck again.
“May I speak with you alone, my lord?” he asked.
“Why? So you can stab me in the back with no witnesses?” Jacquard replied.
It was a childish comment and unfair. He knew he had nothing to fear from Iskandar. The leader of the Order made no response and held Jacquard’s gaze. Finally, Jacquard gave the command for them to be alone, his eyes never leaving Iskandar as his knights departed. Mondorlous was the last to leave and only after Iskandar motioned for him to do so.
For a moment neither the leader of Frindoth nor of the Order spoke. Jacquard looked at Iskandar expectantly.
“Once again, I must apologise to you, my king. It was not my intention to deceive you but I had no choice,” Iskandar said.
“I don’t understand. You killed those poor people; you gave the order to kill my son. I could see you hanged for such treachery.”
Iskandar nodded and hung his head again.
“When Marybeth did not show, I feared the worse. I do not know what has happened to her, but her failure to ensure the final three stoneholders attended meant our lon
gstanding agreement with the Gloom was jeopardised. There was no telling what the creature might do, but I knew it would be a grave situation,” Iskandar said.
“A grave situation!” Jacquard interrupted, “Have you seen the state of the city out there? Have you seen the bodies that line the streets?” Iskandar waited patiently for Jacquard to finish before continuing.
“As I was saying, I knew the consequences would be brutal. There are only vague records in the archives of all twelve stoneholders not being present at the Ritual. One thing is clear, after that incident, the population of Frindoth decreased dramatically. The ancient text also states what must be done should such a situation occur.” Iskandar held a hand up to stop Jacquard from interrupting again. “The text states that the only way to appease the Gloom is for all twelve of the stoneholders to be sacrificed. Only then would the Gloom return to its realm.
I thought there was a chance Vashna might have killed Marybeth and the three absent stoneholders in order to cause you strife, so if I quickly dispatched the other nine stoneholders, including your son, then maybe I would prevent the destruction that you see outside the window.”
For a moment Jacquard was too stunned to respond. A million questions were swimming around his mind. How could these texts exist without his knowledge? Why had he not been told everything to do with the Ritual? Could Vashna really be responsible for this?
He walked towards the giant window that looked over the main part of the city. Pockets of smoke still rose from different sections, but the worst of it had been quelled.
“It would make no sense for Vashna to have evoked the Gloom’s wrath. He has designs on my throne, why would he want it after the Gloom has destroyed the kingdom?” Jacquard said, thinking aloud.
“Unless he knew how to defeat the Gloom and wanted to weaken Lilyon first?” Iskandar said.