The Stone of Mercy

by M. J. Evans

  Tandum slid backward down the hillside. The others followed.

  “They’re preparing for war,” he said.

  “Aren’t they always?” responded Tibbals.

  “Father said the Council had come to a truce with the Cyclops.”

  “So who are they preparing to fight?” asked Tibbals.

  Tandum shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps the Ogres…perhaps the Heilodius herd. When we return to Minsheen, we will need to report this to Father.”

  Carling glanced over at Higson. Her internal senses told her to flee. Instead, she reached over and grabbed his hand for security. He responded by giving her a weak smile and a squeeze of her hand.

  The travelers left quickly, taking a course that gave them a wide berth around the gulley, enabling them to stay well away from the Cyclops. Aware that the Cyclops have a very keen sense of smell, it had to be a very wide berth.

  The Centaurs began galloping to make up for lost time. They desperately wanted to reach Manyon Canyon before the sun set.

  Just as the lowering sun was sending blue shadows over the prairie grass, the band of travelers stopped. Ahead of them, painted black by the shadows, a jagged scar cut across the Echoing Plains, slicing it in half. It zigzagged its way northward toward the mountain range that bordered Mount Heilodius, the destined home of the ruler of Crystonia. Carling felt a shiver tickle her spine as she realized she was looking at the infamous Manyon Canyon. Now, more than ever, she hoped the stories she had heard were not true.

  Tandum led them to the left and cantered down a gentle slope until they reached the mouth of the Canyon.

  “I’m exhausted,” whispered Tibbals.

  Carling jumped off Tibbals and offered her a drink of water.

  As her friend drank, Carling looked ahead into the canyon. A large and boisterous stream wove its way out of the deep gorge, bouncing against rocks and boulders. The high stone walls to either side were covered with steps and crags that had been formed by centuries of abuse from wind and water. The rough cliff walls reached up hundreds of feet. On many of the ledges, curling pine trees had managed to carve out a home for themselves. Birds, large and small, flitted from one tree to another, making loud squawking and chirping sounds as they did so. While marmots, rabbits, and coyotes scurried around the base of the cliffs, big horn sheep leapt from one rocky shelf to the next. The entire canyon seemed to be alive.

  Half of the canyon was already in the dark from the shadows cast by the setting sun. Clearly, there was little daylight left.

  “How will we find Baskus? It’s so large,” exclaimed Carling.

  Tandum shook his head as he looked to the west. “We didn’t make it in time. We will have to find a place to camp for another night and begin our search in the morning.”

  Carling’s heart felt like it was shrinking. She pressed her lips tightly together. Her shoulders slumped as she heaved a heavy sigh.

  Higson came to her side. “It’s okay, Carling,” he said, patting her gently on the shoulder. “We’ll find the great eagle tomorrow.”

  Carling felt her body relax as she looked up into Higson’s kind eyes. “You’re right, Higson. We’ll find him tomorrow.”

  Chapter 16

  In the Fog

  No sun kissed her cheek. No birds sang a welcome to the new day. Carling awoke to find herself surrounded by a dense fog that covered the ground and filled the canyon. Everything was cold and silent. She could barely see beyond a few feet. Her heart sank. How will we ever find Baskus in this? she asked herself.

  Of immediate concern was the fact she couldn’t see any of her companions due to the thick fog. “Higson? Tibbals? Tandum? Is anyone there?” The silence sent her heart racing. “Where is everyone?” Carling felt perspiration beading on her forehead even in the cold as she strained to hear a response. She walked carefully around in circles, looking for any sign of her friends, trying not to panic. It didn’t take her long to realize Higson, Tibbles, and Tandum and their packs of supplies were gone.

  Carling tried to stay calm so she could think rationally. She rubbed her hands together to warm them while she considered possible explanations. Perhaps they had just ventured out to find water or firewood. Perhaps they were just scouting out the canyon in search of a trail to take. They would never leave her, she reasoned. They would be back for her. But no matter how hard Carling tried to make some sort of sense out of all of this, she could not shake the foreboding feeling that her friends were in danger.

  After what seemed forever, the screech of a raptor broke the ominous silence. By the sound it made, Carling was sure it was a very large bird. A dark apparition appeared in the fog, getting larger as the sound of flapping wings grew louder. The shape became clearer the closer it got, and it was soon obvious that the creature coming toward her through the fog was large enough to be an eagle.

  Carling stared at the bird as it approached and sent out occasional screeches. She wasn’t sure if she should run and hide or stay where she was. She chose to stand firm and wait. Soon it was directly over her and circling around, calling out almost frantically now. Just as it flew down to within a few feet of her, one of the bird’s large talons opened wide and a stunning green stone, circular in shape, fell to the ground at her feet. Carling bent to look at it. It was the most beautiful stone she had ever seen. The color was the green of the forest that she loved. The shape had not been sculpted by a human hand. It was too perfect. Even the artisans of Duende would not have been able to create such a stone. The stone was both beautiful and frightening, and she knew immediately that it was the Stone of Mercy she was seeking. From what little Vidente had told her, she also knew this stone held great power, a power she did not understand. That frightened her.

  Hesitantly, she reached out and picked it up, her hands shaking. Biting her lip, she looked up toward the bird. Surely this was the great eagle called Baskus. The raptor let out another loud cry, circled her, then started back in the direction from which it had come, its large head turning back to look at her.

  Carling had the clear impression that she was to follow him. She pulled aside her cloak and, with trembling hands, placed the stone in the round hole cut into the left front of her silver breastplate. The stone fit perfectly and, as though alive, nestled into place. It seemed to know this was where it belonged. Instantly, a surge of energy flowed through Carling’s veins like electricity. She gasped and fell backward onto the ground, her body tingling. Shivering uncontrollably, she pushed herself back up to her feet. Her heart was pounding rapidly and her thoughts were confused in a mixture of fear and amazement.

  She stood in place for a moment, trying to get her bearings yet eager to follow Baskus. Without taking the time to consider what possessing the stone meant to her and the future of Crystonia, and still feeling a bit disoriented, Carling grabbed her pack and started running to catch up with the eagle. Her body felt indescribably strong, like it could run forever. She had never felt like this before.

  Carling wondered how much Baskus understood about the magic the stone contained. According to the old Centaur, Adivino, the eagle had been guarding it for a long time.

  The bird stayed low to the ground and just close enough for Carling to be able to see it despite the fog. She could see nothing on either side of her, so she kept her eyes on the dark shape of the bird and moved swiftly in order to stay with him.

  Clusters of trees that bordered the river appeared out of nowhere and just as quickly disappeared. Enormous rocks loomed over her, looking like monsters in the mist. In the swirling vapor around her, Carling didn’t see the edge of the rift that the elements had carved into the canyon floor. Before she could catch herself, she found herself tumbling down, bouncing and rolling the few feet to the sandy base. She quickly pushed herself to her knees, brushed off her clothing, and checked for damage. Her face tightened as she clenched her teeth and she frowned as she rubbed her sore shoulders and hips.

  Carling scampered to her feet and looked around, frant
ically searching through the gray fog for the bird. She didn’t have to search long. With a loud screech and a flap of its wings in front of her face, the giant bird reappeared. This time it was so close that Carling was able to get a good look at it. The raptor was an elegant golden eagle, much larger than any eagle she had ever seen. The feathers on its head and down its back were the color of polished brass. Its eyes were round and black as coal. Its wings had a span of several arm lengths.

  The beautiful bird screeched again and started flying away, deeper into the canyon.

  “Baskus. Wait, Baskus,” Carling cried out.

  By way of response, the giant bird screeched but kept flying.

  Carling knitted her eyebrows and scowled, pressing her hands on her hips in irritation. Her knuckles moved against the unyielding metal of the silver breastplate. She took in and released a deep breath, then started forward again, realizing she had no alternative but to follow. Her only hope was that Baskus was there to help her find her companions.

  After following Baskus for many minutes, Carling heard voices reverberating through the fog. “Let go of us. Let us go right now!” It was Tibbals. Carling recognized her voice immediately.

  Baskus swooped back toward her. He tilted his wings, back-flapped to slow his descent, and landed on the ground in front of her. He immediately extended his wings wide to both sides, stopping her in her tracks.

  “What is it, Baskus?” Carling asked, her voice low. “What’s going on?”

  The eagle turned his entire body toward the loud voices but kept his wings outstretched. Baskus moved forward slowly, walking like the elegant creature that he was, his head high, his body upright. Carling followed behind, not feeling nearly so elegant.

  The voices and sounds of movement and struggling got louder. At first Carling could see only shifting shadows. Hearing Tibbals cry out and occasional grunts and growls from Tandum made her want to call to them, to tell them she was there. Her instincts and the eagle’s behavior, however, told her to keep silent. She was sure one of the shapes was Higson, but she heard no sounds coming from him. She lifted her feet and set them back down silently, moving forward with the stealth of a cat. The cold, damp mist made her shiver and she wrapped her arms around her body, feeling the silver breastplate that covered her torso. It provided neither warmth nor comfort.

  As she walked forward, a sudden warm breeze brushed past her face like a feather. She was surprised by the abrupt change in temperature, which took the coldness and dampness with it. Soon, the shapes moved into sharp focus, as though a lens had been adjusted to clarify the scene. Carling could now clearly see Tibbals, Tandum, and Higson. Tied up with ropes, they were being dragged by nearly a dozen Fauns. Tibbals held onto the ropes that were around her waist, struggling against them and complaining with each step. Tandum and Higson seemed more resigned, heads bowed, fists clenched at their sides, trudging along.

  Carling knew that the Fauns had, several years ago, sold their souls to the Cyclops. The half-goat, half-human race agreed to be servants to the one-eyed monsters in exchange for protection. This alliance had surprised the rest of the races in Crystonia. The Duende were not alone in their perception that the Fauns were fun-loving creatures who enjoyed nothing more than to play their flutes and dance around the forest glens. But for the last dozen years or so, the Fauns were never encountered in the woods unless they were doing the bidding of their cruel masters.

  Carling’s violet eyes opened wide in amazement. Feelings of curiosity and anger battled for her attention. Why are they taking them? she asked herself. Where are they taking them? And why didn’t they take me?

  Baskus stopped and turned his head from side to side. He half hopped, half flew to the right, toward a jagged vertical crack in the canyon wall. Carling followed. With a toss of his head and beak, the giant bird motioned for Carling to step into the crack. It was shallow but just deep enough for her to fit inside. She turned and faced the bird. His round black eyes peered into hers and held her there for a moment. Then, with a powerful downward flap of his wings, Baskus lifted off the ground. Carling, her heart leaping to her throat, bolted out of the crevasse. She was immediately pushed back as Baskus circled and flew past her. With a loud screech, the bird ascended into the newly blue sky. Clutching the rough stones that surrounded her, Carling watched him go.

  Chapter 17

  The Fauns

  Carling wanted to call out to Baskus and plead with him to stay. But she bit her lip and tried to decide what to do. Baskus clearly wanted her to stay where he had put her.

  Carling shifted her attention back to her friends as they continued to be pulled up the base of the canyon by the Fauns. Tibbals was still pulling at the ropes and complaining.

  When the Fauns had pulled their captives a good distance away, Carling sucked in her breath and stepped out of the crack in the rock. She bent low and hurried forward, keeping herself close to the canyon wall. Not watching where she was placing her feet, her foot kicked a loose rock, sending it bouncing down a slippery rock slope. The sound was amplified by the canyon walls. One of the Fauns at the side of the group stopped and turned around. Carling dropped to the ground, making herself as small as possible. The young Duende closed her eyes in a futile attempt to become invisible. She held her breath and listened. Carling felt her hands get clammy. After several minutes, she dared to open her eyes, raise her head a little, and look ahead. The Fauns and their prisoners had continued to move forward. She saw no sign of the guard who had looked around.

  Assuming the Faun who heard the rock had moved ahead with the rest, Carling stood up just enough to straighten her legs. Still bent over, she moved forward, more careful this time as to where she placed her feet.

  Carling traveled only a short distance, hurrying as quickly as she dared in an effort to catch up with her friends, when she approached a yellow and red rock outcropping. The stones were dotted with little desert flowers. Suddenly, a Faun leaped out from behind it. Carling gasped, stopped, and jerked upright. She recognized the Faun as the guard who had turned around at the sound of the bouncing rock. She held her breath as she carefully examined him. She had never seen a Faun, only heard about them from tales told in front of the fireplace on winter nights. This Faun was only a little taller than she was as it stood upright on two, strong, hairy, goat-like legs with cloven hooves. His upper body was like that of a human, but his head was much different. Two curling horns sprouted from the side of his head. Two floppy ears hung halfway to his shoulders. A shock of red hair, like a forelock, fell between his dark, round eyes. A bushy red beard covered his chin and jawline, and the brittle hair had been plaited into a braid that hung down from the center of his chin. A rope was wound across his chest. Bands of gold adorned his arms and wrists, and he held a spear in his hand, which he was now pointing at her.

  Carling’s breath caught in her throat and she stumbled backward, falling to the ground.

  “Get out of here!” commanded the odd-looking beast.

  Carling let out a loud breath and raised her chin in defiance. “I will not leave without my friends.”

  “Please, Missy. Get out of here!” the Faun repeated more forcefully.

  Carling scrambled to her feet. With boldness that surprised even her, she replied, “I said ‘no’. I will not leave. Why have you taken my friends and where are you going with them?”

  “We’re just followin’ orders. Now leave.” His face softened a little, his voice developing a gentler tone. “It isn’t safe here.”

  “Why didn’t you take me when you took them?” asked Carling.

  The Faun’s eyes lowered until they were looking at the silver breastplate, visible only slightly beneath her cloak. Carling wrapped her cloak more tightly around her body in an attempt to hide the armor.

  “You’re wearin’ the silver breastplate. We was afraid to touch ya.”

  “What do you know about the silver breastplate?”

  “We’ve heard stories.”

  “Wh
at stories?”

  “The rightful heir to the throne of Crystonia will be clothed in a silver breastplate.” The Faun paused and looked directly into her violet eyes. “Is that you?”

  Carling didn’t answer. Instead, she broke away from his gaze and looked beyond him to where her friends were disappearing into the distance. “I must save my friends. Please step out of my way.”

  “I can’t let ya go. It would not be safe.” He paused and looked toward his retreating comrades. He turned back and whispered, “You must understand I’m takin’ a great risk to my own safety by tryin’ to help you.”

  “Who is making you do this?”

  “We do the Cyclops’ bidding,” he answered, his gaze lowered in apparent shame.

  “Why do they want Tibbals, Tandum, and Higson?”

  “I don’t know the answer missy. We just follow the orders we’re given.”

  “Well, I won’t let the Cyclops take them. I must stop them,” she said. Raising her chin and setting her jaw, she stepped forward, pushing the spear aside. The Faun backed away, as though afraid to be too near her.

  No longer concerned about remaining hidden, Carling began running.

  “Missy, Missy. Please come back here,” the Faun softly cried out to her as he ran to catch up. “It’s not safe, like I told ya. Please stop!”

  Carling felt irritation flow through her. Her mouth formed into a tight frown as she clenched her fists. But she didn’t stop. Keeping her eyes focused on the departing figures of her friends, she pumped her arms and ran even more quickly.

  “Missy, you don’t understand. The Cyclops, them be terrible beasts. I fear what they might do to ya,” the Faun cried, now at her side and easily keeping up stride for stride, pumping his arms and swinging his spear forward and back. He grabbed her arm with his free hand in an attempt to stop her.