Birth Stone

by Kate Kelley

  Blank space closed in around her, lifting and pushing her. A scream tore through her throat as she fell down, down, down toward the valley floor, colossal breaks of rock and rubble falling through the air around her, the rumble like a renting in the earth’s foundation.

  Suddenly she was tugged by the arm, a searing burn ripping through her wrist and shoulder.

  The rope! She grabbed onto it with her other hand and looked up through the dust, searching for Terrin.

  The dust grated and stung her eyes as her body was swung toward the mountain wall with no way to stop the momentum.

  She slammed into the wall of rock, a radiating pain hit her skull, making her see stars. She fought for consciousness as blood trickled down her forehead and she attempted to grab onto the rope again. It slipped from her palm, now clammy with sweat. A massive, jagged rock fell toward her then, the edges scraping down her back on the way down as it pushed her against the mountain wall. Excruciating pain scorched along her spine.

  “Terrin!” she screamed, her voice a desperate, hoarse sound she didn’t recognize. Her wrist, elbow and shoulder pulled, her weight straining the joints as she hung defenselessly. Her shoulder popped and stars returned to her vision, pulling her into the void of her mind.

  A dark laugh rang through her consciousness, a flash of a black-robed man, a sickly blue hand raised in power.

  “Master Ganymede.”

  As the name echoed in her mind, a sticky darkness coated her heart, her tongue, her limbs, rendering her paralyzed as the world faded to deepest black.

  ✽✽✽

  Voices swam in and out of her head as her eyes cracked open. Candlelight oscillated between blurry and clear as her eyes attempted to focus. A wooden ceiling, is that what she was looking at? Her head pounded as if someone took a small hammer to her skull. She tried to lift it, but it weighed a ton, so she let it fall back to the--pillow?

  Where am I?

  Muffled voices sounded from behind the wall at her head.

  “Abner must have had you followed. How else would he know we were here?”

  A woman’s voice. One I’ve heard before. Can’t remember where.

  Another muffled voice sounded, too low to make out.

  “Neither did I,” said a louder, clearer voice, “but that doesn’t mean they didn’t have someone covering their tracks with magic.”

  Oriel.

  Lyra attempted to lift her head again, strengthened by hearing Oriel’s voice. She sat up, her body aching all over, every muscle painstakingly slow. She stretched her neck in a circle, then her arms. She was wearing a white gown--someone had undressed her. Suddenly everything crashed back to her. The rockslide, the fall, the rope, the jagged rock cutting open her back.

  Oh, gods. Terrin.

  Panic tore at her throat. She had no idea where Terrin went in the rockslide, or what had happened to him. Shoving the white cotton blanket back, she swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood, holding onto the poster of the bed. When she was steady, she let go. Her legs were wobbly, but they worked.

  She walked forward, swaying slightly to the left and catching herself against the wall. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, this time keeping a straight, slow line. She glanced around the scant, small room--which seemed like a guest or inn room of some sort--before opening the door and turning left down the small hallway. It opened up to a foyer with tall ceilings and a winding staircase. In front of the staircase stood Oriel and Persimmon, deep in conversation.

  “Where’s Terrin?” She croaked out, her voice scratchy from lack of usage. They’re heads snapped up to where she stood and Oriel flew to her side.

  “Why are you up? How do you feel?” he ran his hand along her arms, then peered into her eyes, examining. He then turned her around and peered down the back of her dress.

  “Uhh..Oriel?”

  “You’re healing remarkably well.” He said, satisfied, “I’m so glad you’re up and walking. We didn’t know if..if you’d regain movement.”

  “Movement?”

  “Your back injury was...extensive. We thought it might have severed certain nerves.”

  A flashback of the searing pain through her back caused her to sway forward. She had lost mobility up there, while dangling. She remembered feeling trapped in her body, unable to move even a finger.

  Oriel clutched her arms, holding her up. “Sit,” he said, leading her to a chair.

  “Where’s Terrin?” she asked again, her voice shaking. Oriel looked down, his face growing solemn. A beat of silence passed. Lyra’s heart lurched in her throat.

  “Where. Is. he?” Her voice grew dark. If he was dead, she would break into a million pieces.

  “We don’t know. He dropped you off here and left. I think he went in search for Abner. Something about you mumbling something while unconscious.”

  Lyra breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Where is Abner? How did he know where he’d be? I thought that was your job?”

  Oriel glanced back at Persimmon, who stood back quietly, quite the character change for her.

  “Persimmon has been helping me, but we ran into some issues along the way that detoured us. Someone was following us. We ran into a lot of dangers. Wolves, rockslides, my gem stash was stolen and we never saw the perpetrator...all of this delayed us and we lost our trail. Nothing like what you endured, but unprecedented all the same.”

  “Wolves? Wolves attacked us too. Terrin said wolves went extinct in the devastation.”

  Oriel shook his head. “It is all very strange. We believe someone wielding extremely dark, powerful magic has been following us--and probably you and Terrin as well.”

  “We know. Where is Abner?”

  Oriel looked back at Persimmon again, silently inviting her to come forward. She did. Lyra scanned her curvy body packaged in a knee-length tight black dress.

  Was she to be trusted?

  “We believe he’s in this village of Fell,” Persimmon began, tentatively, “This is a scholar’s hideaway. Only about fifty people reside here permanently. Scholars of all ambitious sorts come and go. The only library dedicated to dark magic history resides here, so you get a lot of those types,” she said rolling her dark eyes.

  “Is this village in Thane mountains?”

  “Yes. Well, in Dair valley, where we are currently. Terrin ran all the way back here while holding your limp body. He must care for you a lot,” she added, winking coyly.

  Lyra’s cheek heated and she looked down at her hands. “I must thank him. When will he be returning?”

  “Well, it’s been three days--” Persimmon drawled.

  “I’ve been unconscious for three days?” she cried, cutting her off.

  “In and out. We got you to drink some water in between fits,” Oriel explained.

  “Fits?” Lyra asked, disturbed.

  “You screamed a lot when you woke, spoke some. We healed you with the crystals we borrowed from the crystal scholars here but I think your pendant is what kept you alive.”

  Lyra shivered. “What did I say?”

  “You kept talking about opening the portal and being..’the chosen one.’ And you kept repeating a name, or a place, we aren’t sure what it means.”

  “What was it?” Lyra asked, hugging her arms.

  Oriel looked her in the eyes, searching. “You kept saying ‘Ganymede.’”

  Ice swam through her veins and her healing wound on her back began to throb. Everything came back to her.

  “I--I think I had a vision. After I had fallen, and was hanging. I saw a man dressed in a black robe. I couldn’t see his face but his hand was a gray-blue, like a corpse. He was laughing. An awful sound. And then I heard a whisper of a name. That name. Ganymede.”

  “So you think it was a name?”

  Lyra frowned. “It said ‘Master Ganymede.’”

  Oriel nodded.

  The front door opened with a bang, a large, huffing man bursting through. He dashed toward the stairs, then stoppe
d midway, turning abruptly toward the three onlookers in the foyer. Beads of sweat dripped down his egg-shaped head, falling into his eyes and mustache. He wiped his face delicately with a handkerchief and attempted a smile. Abner.

  “Oriel, Persimmon…Lyra. Just here...on...duty...” He bowed to each one briefly before turning and continuing up the stairs as fast as his body could go. Oriel smiled widely and followed the man at a casual pace. Persimmon and Lyra followed behind before Persimmon stopped Lyra at the foot of the stairs.

  “Let’s wait,” she said, watching as Oriel skipped up the stairs almost merrily.

  “Do you know what the scroll is, the one you, um…”

  “The one I withheld from Oriel and the King?” she said bluntly, eyes not straying from the top of the stairs.

  “Yes..erm..that one.”

  “No. I only followed Abner’s order not to fill the order for the book. I was threatened with termination if I didn’t follow it, and a girl’s got to eat. So they didn’t tell you what the scroll was about?” She briefly glanced at Lyra before returning her gaze at the top of the stairs.

  “No,” Lyra said quietly, “I’m not privy to much important information, as it turns out.” Her voice came out bitter.

  Persimmon shrugged, flipping her long thick braids over her shoulder. “You know men. Think they’re the only ones who can handle anything of importance.”

  Lyra sniffed. “I suppose. But it’s no excuse.”

  “I agree,” Persimmon replied.

  Lyra eyed her, sizing her up. She seemed much changed from the jealous viper she was before.

  If Oriel trusts her, then I should too.

  “You seem different,” Lyra blurted. Persimmon raised a brow at her. “I mean, more...calm. Sorry, I’m not good at idle conversation--”

  “I thought I loved him,” Persimmon starts, “but turns out I don’t. When he broke things off, I got crazy. No one ends things with me.”

  “Still not humble,” Lyra said with a smirk.

  Persimmon’s eyes glinted with humor. “Never.”

  A loud thump upstairs interrupted their conversation, followed by Abner hurrying back down the stairs, his gut jostling violently, a parchment clutched tightly in his fist. His toupee bounced with each step. Oriel casually appeared at the top, smiling at his prey like the cat who caught the canary.

  Lyra’s eyebrows rose. Something was happening.

  Oriel leaned against the bannister, his long, lean form stretched out like a cat.

  “Stay, Abner,” Oriel drawled, and Abner stopped at the command.

  Whoa.

  Another bang sounded to Lyra’s right, turning their heads.

  Terrin stood in the front doorway, looking like hellfire iced over. A violent storm crashed down behind him in the night. Rainwater ran down his body in sinews, dripping from his clothes. Every cord of his muscle flexed through his black short-sleeved tunic. The veins on his arms popping out like ropes of verve, ready to give lifeblood to his magic. His hair hung wet around his face like a shroud of inky blackness. His upturned palms glowed fire red, his tempestuous eyes full of wrath. Lyra couldn’t even help the fear he ignited in her, and she took a step back. The movement caught Terrin’s eye, and the light faded from his palms immediately, the wrath dissipating from his eyes. His eyes swept her form, concern and relief etched on his face. He looked as if he would go to her, and Abner took the opportunity to leap over the bannister to the left into another room. A crash sounded.

  He must have not made that move too smoothly.

  Terrin jerked his head back to his target and lunged, shooting red from his hands into the room. Lyra shuffled to the side to see the commotion. Abner was frozen, poised over the fire, his parchment-clutching hand hovering over the hearth. His body was encased in the red glow, unable to move. Oriel jogged down the stairs and rounded the corner to the magic-frozen Abner, snatching the parchment from his hand in one smooth motion. Terrin stalked forward, keeping his aura tied to Abner, insuring he didn’t move.

  Lyra walked into the room, Persimmon following closely behind. Oriel broke the black seal of the parchment with his thumb, and unrolled it. His eyes scanned the paper, a crease marring his smooth forehead. After a tense moment, Terrin spoke.

  “Tell me what it is so I know what I need to do with this fool.” He jerked his head toward the still-unmoving Abner, whose face was drenched in sweat and twisted into one of shocked fear. His toupee had slid onto the floor, resembling an ungroomed gerbil. Oriel frowned at the paper again, examining it closely.

  “It’s a victim list. Of a man named Ganymede. But that’s..” Lyra’s stomach clenched at the sound of the name.

  “Ganymede,” Terrin growled low, nodding his head, “the Dark Sorcerer.”

  Oriel pointed to a spot on the parchment. “But this murder dates to fifteen years ago. He can’t still be alive, after...nearly three thousand years. It must be a different sorcerer, one of the same name.”

  “Dark magic, Oriel. You haven’t read up on it too much, eh? There are various ways of growing power and immortality through the dark arts. Namely, murdering magical folk and absorbing their souls for power.”

  Lyra cleared her throat. “Why would Abner withhold this document from you?” she asked.

  Terrin emitted a low growl, his attention back on Abner. “Because he’s working for him, obviously.”

  “That’s quite the offense, treason. We could torture information out of him,” Oriel surmised.

  “What will you do to him, after?” Lyra asked.

  “Kill him,” Terrin said without hesitation.

  Lyra’s heart lurched. “At least give him a trial. What if he was forced? If this sorcerer is as powerful as you say he is, perhaps he has advanced powers of persuasion,” she said.

  Terrin glared at her a moment before severing the connection of his magic. Abner fell forward with a thud, his head inches from the fire. He remained on his stomach, his body heaving with his heavy breathing.

  Oriel hoisted him up by the arm. “Why were you trying to destroy this record?” Oriel asked calmly, folding and pocketing the paper.

  Abner gulped for air, eyes wide with terror.

  “He-he made me do it. He--if I didn’t comply with his demands...you know not what power he has. He-he would have killed me.”

  Terrin growled again, bending his face close to Abner’s.

  “You’re still a dead man, either way. You endangered me, your King, and my mages,” he gestured toward Lyra, Persimmon, and Oriel. “You conspired against the throne. Tell me what you know and I might spare your life.”

  Abner held up his hands in surrender. “I know nothing. I only did menial tasks. Fetching documents, hiding documents. I was never privy to real information. I never spoke to him directly. He gave me orders through a third person--”

  “Who was this third person?” Terrin asked. Abner’s eyes slid to Lyra before returning to Terrin.

  “I don’t know his name--”

  Terrin grabbed him by the throat, fingers curling into the pudge on his neck. Abner raised his hands again, eyes bugging out of his head. Terrin’s eyes bored into him for a solid minute, all the while Abner gurgled, inhaling through the nearly closed trachea. Terrin let go abruptly, sending Abner stumbling back.

  “I can’t read his mind. Somehow he has it blocked.”

  “Abner isn’t a mind mage, he shouldn’t be able to block his mind,” Oriel pointed out.

  "Is he a dormant?" Persimmon asked, her head quirked.

  "No," Oriel said, frowning at the bulbous, blithering man.

  Terrin grabbed onto Abner’s throat again, this time with slightly more pressure.

  “I will squeeze the life from you if you don’t comply,” he enunciated the words slowly, as if Abner was too dense to understand. Abner gasped, face cherry red.

  “I swear I don’t know his true name!” he choked out, “He worked under a pseudonym! Even if I tell you that, it will be impossible to track him! He deals
in dark magic!”

  “WHAT’S THE NAME?” Terrin roared, fire bursting from his palms, searing Abner’s skin, making him squeal like a slaughtered pig. Everyone in the room flinched as the scent of burnt flesh filled the air. Terrin cut the fire off.

  Abner swallowed, trembling visibly, as he wheezed out his next words.

  “His...name...is...Edwin. Edwin Garreson.”

  Chapter 28

  No.

  Shock iced Lyra’s veins as a stunned silence filled the room. All eyes turned to look at her, pinning her with gazes filled with alarm. Terrin was the only one to recover quickly, turning back to Abner and letting him go.

  “You will return to Gem where you will be imprisoned until your trial. Oriel, send a letter to my guards here to escort this disgusting shell of a man the rest of the way,” he spat, turning back to Abner, “If you try to run, I will find you. And personally end your pathetic existence.” Abner nodded enthusiastically, eyes low to the ground.

  “Lyra, follow me,” he commanded as he turned and stalked out of the room without a backward glance.

  Lyra couldn’t follow. She stood rooted in place, her stomach twisted in knots. Abner glanced around like a frightened rabbit before bolting to the door on wobbly legs. Persimmon chuckled, a low, gratified tune as she watched the man leave.

  “Men, eh? All the same,” Persimmon commented, as she searched Lyra’s face. Lyra dazedly looked at her, the words not penetrating her brain. Oriel hovered nearby, but she didn’t want to look at his face, didn't want to see the pity she knew was dripping from his dark brown eyes. She looked down at her ring instead, sparkling against her skin in a myriad of rich colors. She wanted to say something-- cry, scream, anything, but her words turned to ash in her mouth.

  “Lyra!” A resounding shout from Terrin echoed from the adjoining room. Stiffly, she turned and walked toward his voice. Her bare feet slapping against the stone floor. She found him in the room she woke up in. He was pacing the small room. The rockslide flashed again in her mind, and she remembered what Oriel had said about Terrin carrying her all the way to this village in the valley.

  “Thank you, for…” her voice trailed off as she watched his face, fury and darkness unveiled.