by Frank Morin
Lilias extracted from a pocket of her apron a folded parchment. "We received a letter from Ailsa last week, explaining some of what you've been through, Son. It's a wonder you survived."
His father gave him a solemn look. "Connor, why don't you share the real reason you came home?"
"I want to take you away with me."
"Impossible," Hendry said simply.
That single word shattered Connor's carefully-built hope that his parents would see reason. "But Dad, Dougal is probably going to send soldiers to take you all to use you as leverage against me."
"So you want us to run?" his father asked. "And abandon the village and our responsibilities at the time we're needed the most?"
"You won't do anyone any good in chains," Connor pointed out.
"You want us to leave our home after we've worked so hard to rebuild here?" Lilias asked.
"If that's what it takes to keep you safe, yes." Connor felt a growing sense of frustration. "I know what I'm talking about. You have to trust me."
Hendry said, "We do trust you, Son, but we can't leave. Not yet."
"We see the danger," his mother assured him. "But most of the village won't recognize it. High Lord Dougal is very popular here after all he did to help us rebuild." She hesitated before adding, "Most people would think your serving him in whatever way he deems right is your duty, rightly owed to our high lord."
"That's because they don't understand that everything is a lie. Patronage is a lie. The high lords use it to keep Guardians like Martys enslaved. Our entire society is based on that lie."
Hendry glanced at his brother, who walked about fifty feet ahead of them, chatting with Amhain. "That's a dangerous truth."
"I know. It could break Obrion apart."
Lilias frowned. "Are you sure you're the one who has to take the awful risk of spreading that news?"
"Who else could do it?"
"Why not your Grandurian friends," his father suggested. "Seeing Obrion weakened right now would help them, wouldn't it?"
"No one would believe them. They'd think it's just a Grandurian lie, calculated to weaken us when we need to be strongest."
His father nodded. "Probably."
Connor told them, "I have to be involved. I'm Blood of the Tallan."
His mother made a warding sign. "Do you have to say that?"
"My curse is not a curse. The whole concept of curses is a lie. Commoners with curses are Petralists, just like noble born. They don't want us to know. I'm a common linn, with the very curse they want so badly. I'm the one who can make people listen."
"That'll infuriate High Lord Dougal," Hendry said with a grimace.
"Exactly. That's why you have to come. The rest of the village should be safe."
"How can you be sure?" Hendry asked.
Connor hesitated. "Nothing is sure, but it makes sense."
Hendry said, "We may live in a secluded village, but I've seen enough to know that high lords don't have to make sense."
"And you're forgetting our responsibilities," Lilias added. "Your father is Ashlar, and I'm head of the women's circle. We can't just abandon everyone in a time of crisis."
"If you come, you could spare everyone greater danger."
"Or we might be leaving them to face the greatest danger in Alasdair's history alone," Hendry countered. "We can't do that, Son."
"But if Dougal's soldiers take you, he might torture you, torture the whole family, just to get to me," Connor said, hating to have to speak the words aloud.
His mother took his hands in hers. "No one knows what will come, but you cannot give in to evil, Son."
Connor shook his head. "I couldn't let him hurt you." The very thought tore at his heart.
"Surrendering would result in many more getting hurt, wouldn't it?" his mother asked.
When he nodded, she gripped his hands with fierce strength. "Then you must swear never to surrender. Swear to me."
He was taken aback by her intensity. When he hesitated, she squeezed his hands hard enough to hurt. "Swear it to me, Connor."
"I won't have to if you come with me," he countered.
His father said, "We cannot leave, but we're not fools. You know we've got the scouts in place. Stuart uses the town boys who are too young to have assigned vocations. Lord Gavin pays them no heed, but they have sharp eyes. If we see an armed party heading upriver, we'll head for the bolt hole until they're gone."
"But you might not have time to get everyone out," Connor pointed out.
Hendry said, "That's true, but as you just suggested, the greatest threat is to our family, Amhain's family, and perhaps Mhairi. Those few of us could perhaps reach the bolt hole in time."
"Would you really?" Connor gave him a doubtful look. "You'd run and leave the rest of the village defenseless?"
"If we knew the threat was directed against us," his mother insisted. "We could send instructions from the bolt hole to the other villagers."
"And what if Dougal has a Pathfinder? They'd discover what you were doing."
"We'll think of something," Hendry insisted.
Connor wanted to rage at their stubbornness, but shouting wouldn't help. They wouldn't leave. Not yet. Using the bolt hole offered at least a shadow of hope, and he clung to it to keep from despairing. Then he got an idea.
He beckoned Verena over. She'd been walking at the tail of the group beside Roderick.
"They won't go," he told Verena when she joined them.
"I shouldn't be surprised you've already talked about whisking us away from our homes with your promised one." Lilias said as Verena took Connor's hand in hers.
"Mom, we're not promised," Connor said, feeling color rise in his cheeks. Why did moms have to be so embarrassing?
Lilias sighed. "It's only a matter of time. I wish I had more time to get to know you, dear."
Verena said, "You should come with us. It'll be safer that way, and we can talk all you want."
"Oh, you do know how to tempt a mother."
"But we've already gone over all that," Hendry cut in. "Is that why you invited her over?"
Connor shook his head. "Verena, they've at least agreed to hide if Dougal sends soldiers. They've got the scouts in place, but the challenge will be communication."
She immediately saw his point. "I can spare perhaps three pairs of speakstones, Connor. That's all I've got."
"It'll be enough." He squeezed her hand in thanks. Their supply of power stones was low, and most of the quartzite was dedicated to powering the Swift and Hamish's suit. Offering up even three pairs of small stones was a meaningful sacrifice.
"What are speakstones?" Hendry asked.
"They allow communication over distance," Verena said. "I'll show you how they work before we leave."
"Make sure no one mentions them around Martys, or any of Dougal's people," Connor warned. "They're Builder inventions, so they're highly illegal."
"We know how to be careful," his mother assured him. "Besides, they're not the first contraband stone we've kept secret."
She drew from a deep pocket of her dress a small leather pouch and handed it to him. "Ailsa sent these with that letter. She said you'd need them when you eventually returned."
The pouch contained power stones for all of his affinities, except granite.
His father handed him another pouch, filled with precious powdered granite. "I quarried this in secret for you."
"Thank you," he said as he reverently took the powder. Preparing powder on the side was a huge risk.
"Since you won't leave, there's one other thing I can do to help shield you all from High Lord Dougal," Connor said.
"Now don't go killing high lords," his mother warned.
"I'll kill him if I have to," Connor promised.
Especially if Dougal threatened his family. He'd seen enough death to hate the thought of killing anyone, but he had seen enough of evil to know that sometimes there was no other way.
"But that's not what I have in mind. I'm
going to take all the Cutter tools."
Chapter Nine
"The impetuous youth may, when motivated by a greater cause, bend their will to study of import worthy of greatest efforts."
~Evander
Connor's parents argued against the plan, but Connor insisted. "I need Dougal's people to see that I not only broke with him, but I betrayed my family and the town, and left you all facing winter with no means to fulfill your duty."
"And no way to supply the stones that are so critical to the war effort," Verena added.
Connor nodded. "It might be enough to convince Dougal's men that kidnapping you won't give them the leverage they're looking for."
Hendry said, "I see your point, but are you really ready to cripple your homeland in a time of war?"
"There won't be a war if no one invades," Connor said.
Verena said, "And I guarantee Dougal can get replacement tools. Sabotaging enemy quarries is fairly standard practice in a time of war. No doubt he's got a stockpile of spare chisels, and even a few hammers in a closely guarded vault in Merkland."
Lilias wrung her hands. "I still don't like it."
"It's a necessary act," Connor assured her. "But you can't tell anyone else. In order to fool Dougal's men, the rest of the town needs to believe I'm really stealing from them."
Lilias said, "Oh, Son, you'll destroy your good name forever."
He shrugged to hide how much the thought hurt. He loved Alasdair, but that was why he had to do it. "It's worth the price."
They looked like they wanted to protest more, but didn't have a good argument against the idea. They rejoined the rest of the group in exploring the town, and Connor tried to soak it all in. Even if he didn't steal the chisels, he could never return to the simple life of Alasdair, but maybe he could save their homes for them.
As they walked, most of the adults gave the Grandurians a wide berth, but children soon flocked around them, eager to view the foreigners up close. They called out an unending stream of questions.
"What's Granadure like?" Hamish's five year-old brother, Grier, asked Ilse at the same time that eleven year-old Neilina asked Erich, "How'd you get so big if you can't even out-eat my brother?" And nine year-old Ammie tugged on Anika's sleeve. "Have you ever eaten a frog?"
When they reached the Healer house on Cliff Street that ran close to the base of the towering Wick Torr, Jean joined them. She greeted Hamish with a kiss, and his younger siblings chortled with laughter. Ammie asked if she had to give him one of Mhairi's tonics after every kiss.
Connor followed along, hand in hand with Verena, enjoying the stroll and the chance to absorb the feel of the town. It might be almost entirely new, but the scents and sounds were the same, the faces ones he knew so well. He already felt distanced from it, though, and the thought saddened him.
"What's wrong?" Verena asked gently.
"It's just. . ." He trailed off and gestured around them. "I've been realizing that this won't ever be my home again. Not really."
"I felt the same way the last time I visited my family. It was fun to visit, but the Builder compound is my real home."
Connor appreciated that she understood. He was happy she would be at his side as they headed into Granadure and whatever life threw at them there.
The rest of the morning passed far too quickly, filled with pleasant conversation and the easy contentment that came when surrounded by loved ones. Preparations for the grand feast took until an hour past noon, but all too soon they took their places at the head table in the market square.
Villagers crowded the heavy Sogail feasting tables, which were piled high with food. Meats and breads and cakes vied for space with puddings and vegetables and mountains of bacon. The sight of it all rekindled Connor's appetite, and he vowed to eat as much as Hamish.
Hendry rose once everyone was assembled, and quiet fell instantly. Again Connor marveled at how much his influence had grown in the past few months. He gave a little speech welcoming Connor, Hamish, and Jean home, but he was wise enough to keep it short. Speeches before big meals forced people to wait to eat, and speeches afterward were excuses to nap.
He finished with, "As my brother likes to say, give it laldy!"
Villagers cheered, banging tables with knives or tankards. The phrase was not used much in town, but Connor suspected it might suddenly become popular again. It was a good way for his father to help link his brother back to the town again.
Connor dug in with everyone else, despite the huge breakfast. Hamish ate with great enthusiasm too, but far slower than normal. It appeared he had reached even his astonishing limit. More than one sweetbread got slipped into the bulging pouch at his belt.
Only when the feasting began to slow did Connor decide it was time. He hadn't wanted to waste a good meal, and with everyone full to bursting, they'd be less likely to grow belligerent.
Connor slipped a tiny piece of marble into his mouth and wedged it under his tongue. He sucked on it, and the spicy burn seeped into his tongue. He loved that initial burst of spicy flavor before it grew to painful intensity.
Imagining the gateway to elemental fire as a doorway in his mind, fashioned of white-hot, billowing flames, Connor extended his senses through and connected with fire. The tiny flames of Sogail candles burning at every table glowed in his mind, and he rose from his seat, grinning with the elation that came with walking with elemental fire.
He made a point to not draw too deep from the marble. Under the influence of fire, he could easily become reckless, but when tightly controlled, it offered exactly what he needed.
Most people were too engrossed in the feasting and their own conversations to notice him rise. So Connor reached out with fingers of thought, snatched the little flames of the Sogail candles, and pulled. Streams of fire arced into the air from the candles and drew every eye as they shot across the square and began spiraling around his fingers like long, fiery serpents.
"Thank you all for welcoming us with such legendary hospitality," Connor spoke loudly into the quiet. A few people cheered, but fell silent when others did not join in.
Connor hated to scare them, but he needed that fear. So he sent the streamers of fire shooting into the air and rippling around the market square. Even though they passed several feet above everyone's heads, many people ducked, looking nervous.
Stuart rose, glaring. "You're wrecking the feast, Connor."
"I'm just getting started."
He sent a stream of fire flicking in front of Stuart's eyes. Stuart recoiled, tripped over his bench, and sprawled on his backside between the tables.
"I'd say I'm sorry about that," Connor said, forcing his tone to turn cold. "But I'm just not." The crowd was turning angry, and success had never felt so bad. "In fact, now that we've eaten our fill and taken advantage of your hospitality, it's time to go. As you know, Obrion is on the brink of war with Granadure. What you might not know is that High Lord Dougal is my enemy."
A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Uncle Martys, who sat several seats away from Connor said, "Those be dangerous words, laddie."
"High Lord Dougal is a liar," Connor spoke directly to Martys. "He's already killed people in Obrion, and he plans to kill many more."
Martys slowly rose from his seat. "You picked an unfortunate time to insist on a fight, lad, but then again, I only promised not to fight before breakfast. I guess making it until after lunchtime isn't bad."
Connor hated to antagonize his uncle, but Martys could bring word back to Dougal and help convince him to leave the family alone. "I wish you'd picked a different time to come home, Uncle. Because I'm leaving to fight Dougal, and I'm taking all the cutter tools with me."
Villagers shouted in shock, and the cutters all leaped to their feet, cursing and defiant. Even Hendry rose, his expression furious. Amhain brandished his knife like he wished it was a sword.
Martys's skin faded to gray as he tapped granite, and his already-impressive bulk increased. His muscles hardened and shifted to s
culpted lines that strained the limits of his shirt. "Hendry, Lilias, get the children out of here. I'll take care of this."
Connor waited for his family and Hamish's to move away. Hamish had to drag his angry father from the table. Soon only Martys faced Connor.
Most of the villagers had drawn back a bit, but remained in the square, curious to witness the fight. They waited too long, because at a gesture from Kilian, Ilse led her team away from the head table to position themselves at each of the main exits.
When people realized what they were doing, curiosity turned to fear. Now Martys really was their one hope for salvation.
"Stand down, Uncle," Connor told him. He pulled off his own shirt and tapped granite. His skin too faded and his muscles expanded, transforming him into a perfectly sculpted living statue. Many villagers gaped. Knowing he was cursed and seeing him transform were two entirely different things.
Martys shook his head, a little smile playing across his lips. "Son, I've been a Guardian since before you were a glimmer in your daddy's eyes. Bash fighting is what I do."
Connor shrugged, loving the play of his enormous muscles. "I hate to see an old man get beat, Uncle, but I can't show you mercy even if you hobble into battle using a cane."
Martys laughed, a wild look coming into his eyes, and charged.
Chapter Ten
"The mountain may withstand the assault of ages, but crumble in a single moment."
~Evander
Connor was tempted to let himself enjoy a little bash fighting, but he needed to make the villagers fear him and prove to them that he was a deranged threat to the town. So he drew deep from marble, triggering an intense burning sensation in his mouth as he used the little stone under his tongue to create new flames.
He threw out his hands, and sheets of flame whipped around Martys, who tried plunging through the fire. It was a brave, but stupid move. Connor seized him with the flames, wrapping them around his wrists and ankles, and yanking Martys out of the air.