Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (25 page)

“It
works,” she said, answering his unasked question. She did not care if he
thought she was referring to the witchcraft or the illusion to the witchcraft;
she was fed up with justifying the ornaments to people.

The
rain had eased slightly but was still thick enough for them to shelter under
her canvas. She stared at the giant man standing before her, who stared back in
return. She had known him for fourteen years but still knew very little about
him. He kept to himself and only spoke if needed. In fact, their brief exchange
so far was the closest she had seen him come to making small talk.

His
gaze penetrated her, as if he was reading her deepest thoughts and assessing
her as a person. She stood with her arms folded and chin raised defiantly. As
far as she was aware, he could not read minds, and so she waited for him to
speak. When he did she was caught off guard by his conversational tone.

“You
do not appear concerned to see me,” he said.

“I’m
not,” she replied a little too quickly. He raised his eyebrows in mock
surprise.

“Even
though you know I am here to drag you back to Lilyon to face Iskandar?”

“I
know why you are here; I also know you have no intention of dragging me back.”

“I
don’t?” he said and seemed genuinely confused by her response.

She
took a deep breath. She didn’t know for certain what Mondorlous would do. He
was a powerful man and she was not sure if he was convinced by bravado.
There
comes a point where you are going to have to trust someone
.

“No,
you don’t,” she said. “We both know that if I don’t go willingly then we would
be forced to engage in a battle. You believe you are more powerful but are not
totally convinced. You are also curious about my actions and would rather hear
my side of the story than blindly follow Iskandar’s orders.”

A
bead of sweat trickled down her face which she silently cursed. She willed
Mondorlous not to notice it and realise she was nervous. This was the first
time she had gone against the Order. She admonished herself for folding her
arms. If he made a move now, unfolding them would give him an instant
advantage.

“You
have matured an awful lot compared to that young girl I met over fourteen
birthfeasts ago,” he said smiling. It was the first time she had ever seen him
smile and it was beautiful. Two rows of perfectly formed teeth shone in the
rain. The tension immediately ebbed from her body. “So what is all this about?”
he said.

She
told him everything that had transpired over the last couple of weeks. She
hadn’t intended on being so open, but it felt good to finally offload the
weight she had been carrying around with her. She did not mention the
mysterious face changer because she was unsure of him herself. Any concerns she
had about speaking openly to Mondorlous dissipated as she began to tell her
tale. It was the right thing to do, she was sure of it.

Throughout
the whole of her story, the giant did not say a word. He stared at her
intently, neither judging nor accusing her. If he was surprised by the mention
of the Chamber of Scrolls he did not show it. However, she mentioned nothing of
her father and her hatred towards Iskandar, though. She did not trust him that
much.

When
she had finished, he was silent for a long time. The rain had stopped and the
first rays of sun were breaking through the clouds. Not knowing what to do, she
went over to her horse and fed him some grain. The horse greedily ate from her
hand.

She
looked back at Mondorlous, he now sat cross-legged on the floor with his eyes closed,
not the reaction she was expecting from him. After a while he opened his eyes
and smiled at her.

“Do
you still have the scroll?” he asked.
Does he not believe me?
She felt a
surge of anger towards him and angrily retrieved the scroll from her tunic and
thrust it into his hands. He appeared not to notice the aggressive behaviour
and looked upon the parchment in awe.

“Iskandar
must be told about this,” he said after he had read it for the third time.

“He
knows,” she said, and then seeing the surprise on his face added, “Why do you
think I have gone about things the way I have? Iskandar has known the Gloom can
be defeated for a number of cycles of the Ritual, yet he has chosen to ignore
it and let people continue to be sacrificed.”

“Why
would he do that?” Marybeth shrugged. “Then we must confront him,” Mondorlous
said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“You
can if you like. I am going to stop the Gloom,” she said and started packing
her belongings.

“How?
The scroll says it can be defeated when the three Moon Gods are reunited.”

“It
is a metaphor. The three Moon Gods mentioned are the stones that match their
colour: red, blue and green. If you hadn’t noticed, the same three stoneholders
that failed to attend the Ritual. It is clear what I must do; I must gather those
stones and place them on the table.”

Mondorlous
looked dumbfounded. She watched him process the information and reach the same
conclusion as she had. A squirrel scurried across a branch above her head; it
paused as if eavesdropping on their conversation.

“All
that death in Lilyon,” he muttered.

“Is
regrettable. If I could have brought this to the attention of the Order
beforehand, I would have, but I was unsure whom I could trust. I had to pretend
that I was going ahead with the Ritual as planned.”

“Why
not wait until after the Ritual?”

“What’s
one more sacrifice, huh?” she said.

“Compared
to the deaths that incurred? Yes,” he said. He paced back and forth.
Was
the man capable of saying anything longer than a sentence at a time?

“Isn’t
it obvious, no one knows what happens to the stones after they are cast in the
waterfall. Supposing one of the moon stones was selected: I needed all three
stones, and where would we find the Gloom? This is the only time we see it in
twelve years,” she said, mounting her horse.

He
nodded in agreement but reached out and grabbed the reins, preventing her from
going anywhere.

“I
think we both need to confront Iskandar before we do anything,” he said. This
was it, this was the critical moment. She would find out now whether she was
right to confide in Mondorlous or whether he really was a tool of Iskandar’s.
She hoped he would trust her. The horse stamped a hoof impatiently.

“Iskandar
does not want this scroll to be public knowledge. I have seen him kill to keep
it a secret. He has made his feelings on the matter clear,” she said, staring
straight ahead.

“Don’t
you want to know why? He could have very good reasons.”

“Reasons
that justify the sacrifice of a life every twelve years forever and ever?” she
felt his grip on the reins weaken slightly.
He is not convinced of Iskandar
now either
. “Do you have the stones?” he said.

“Two
of them, the third is with that family I was watching,” she said, gesturing
towards the direction which they had come.

“Where
are the other two stoneholders?” he asked.

“Dead.”

She
hated the amused expression on his face and knew what he was thinking. The
irony was not lost on her; she was talking about doing what was best for the
people of Frindoth but had no qualms about the deaths she had witnessed so far.

The
Order had done this to her. Before she joined she would have been horrified at
the thought of all of the deaths that were happening. The Order had
de-sensitized her to such emotion. She could see the bigger picture and
accepted there would be casualties along the way. She hated thinking in those
terms, but that is what Iskandar had moulded her into. For the second time that
day she found herself explaining her actions to Mondorlous.

“One
was dying anyway, I couldn’t save her. The other was a useless drunk wasting
his life. He would have killed himself sooner or later through his drinking. I
couldn’t risk either of them telling people about me stealing the stones.
Besides, the scroll says the only way to appease the Gloom is for all stoneholders
to be sacrificed. It was a necessary contingency.”

“So
that is your plan. Go to the mountain, reunite the stones with the table and
defeat the Gloom so you can be seen as a hero to the people of Frindoth,” he
said.

“I’m
not doing this for the people of Frindoth,” she said. She looked up at the
squirrel perched on the branch above her; it looked back at her with glowing
blue eyes. “I’m doing it to avenge my father.”

With
that, Mondorlous dropped the reins and stood aside. She clicked her heels and
her horse sped off into the trees.

*
* *

The
three of them stood over the freshly dug grave. Mertyn had been digging it all
morning whilst the girls had been preparing Brody’s body. They had originally
planned to transport it all the way back to Longcombe, so Brody could have a
proper ceremony and be seen off by all his friends.

More
importantly, Mertyn wanted Rhact and his family to have a chance to say good-bye.
After two days of travelling, however, his son had already begun to decompose
badly. The stench made his eyes water.

He
despised the idea of the last memory of his son being a rotting corpse he
pulled along in a wagon, so had suggested they find a nice spot and bury him.
Neither Tyra nor Brenna disagreed.

He
was worried about both of them. Their grief had manifested itself in different
ways. Whilst his wife withdrew into herself, barely functioning, Brenna seemed
to handle the situation too well. She did not demonstrate any visible signs of
sadness, but Mertyn knew from the way she distracted herself by talking about
anything but Brody, she was merely in denial over his death.

He
looked at his son’s body wrapped in cloth and ready to be placed in his final
resting place. Tears welled.
I should have saved you, son. You deserved far
better than to be buried in a random hole.
As if sensing his thoughts, Tyra
slipped her hand into his. He knew the intimate gesture was meant to reassure
him, but it made him feel a whole lot worse.

His
thoughts turned to the Ritual and the awful moment the executioner had kicked
the box from underneath Brody. Mertyn had fought to get to him. Tyra was right
behind him, hysterical. No matter how many people Mertyn seemed to punch or
shove, there was always another body to take their place and block his way.
Every now and then he glimpsed his son’s legs kicking at the thin air. Finally
there was just the one man to beat: the giant member of the Order who held him
at bay as if he were a child.
I didn’t even make the platform,
he
thought as he stared at the empty grave.

Mertyn
barely registered the Gloom’s arrival. He only had eyes for his son’s limp body
swinging back and forth peacefully in the mayhem that surrounded it. When the
crowds had thinned, he reached his son and still held onto some ridiculous
shred of hope he would still be alive.

One
look at his son’s face dispelled the notion. His beautiful face was contorted
in agony, his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. His paternal instinct
had kicked in as he tried to shield the sight from Tyra and Brenna. Both of
them screamed at the sight of Brody and rushed to hug his lifeless form. The
four of them stayed in that embrace for a long time, until he suggested they
return home.

Getting
out of Lilyon was not easy. By the time they freed Brody’s body from the
gallows, the city square was mostly deserted. They carried him back to the
wagon unhindered, but making their way through the streets was a nightmare.
Chaos surrounded them. Fights broke out openly and unscrupulous thieves tried
to climb on the wagon, afraid the three of them had stolen something valuable
before they had a chance to steal it. By the time they cleared the city gates,
half of their possessions had been snatched.

They
had chosen a secluded spot on a river bank a few miles off the North road.
Brenna figured since Brody’s favourite spot back home was the town bridge, he
would have liked to have been close to the water.

“Does
anyone wish to speak before I begin?” Mertyn asked. Tyra shook her head slowly
from side to side.

“I
will, if you don’t mind,” Brenna said. She did not look up from the grave as
she spoke and so did not see the smile Mertyn gave her.

“Brody
was the best brother a sister could ever wish for. No brother ever looked out
for his sister like he did. No brother ever played with his sister like he did
and no brother ever taught his sister as much as he did.” As she spoke, tears
flowed down her face, at last the grief swept over her in waves. Beside her,
Tyra’s shoulders jerked up and down as she sobbed. “Most importantly, no sister
had ever been prouder of her brother. He had grown into a young man. A man who
was loved by all, admired by all and respected by all. Frindoth will be a
poorer place without the sound of his laugh. Brody ...” she choked as she said
his name. “I miss you so much already.”

When
she had finished, Mertyn leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.