Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (6 page)

She
approached the table. Carved on the top was an inscription:

The
scroll chamber:

Seek the scroll relevant to thy cause,

Take it swiftly, do not pause.

Only the worthy will the Custodians permit the right,

To borrow a scroll from the Marshes of Night.

“Whoever
the Custodians were, they were crap at poetry,” she said aloud. Still, the
warning unnerved her.

Marybeth
looked about the Chamber. There must have been at least two hundred portholes.
Her head swam with the discovery. All of these portholes might contain secrets
of Frindoth that no one else knew. She approached the nearest porthole. It was
large enough to get one of her arms through and depicted a row of ships in
front of an enormous wall. The Edge, Marybeth realised. The Edge was rumoured
to be a gigantic stone wall that towered to the sky and surrounded Frindoth and
Lakisdoa. Very few had ever seen the marked end of the world and like the
Chamber it was considered to be a myth.

She
went to put her arm into the hole and then hesitated. The inscription mentioned
“only the worthy may take the scroll.” What did that mean? Surely there must be
some sort of defence, otherwise, anyone that discovered the room could learn
Frindoth’s secrets.

“Take
your time,” she said to herself, remembering the drowning mud outside.

The
Chamber was silent but that did not mean the scroll was unprotected. Who were
the Custodians, as well? She had seen no one else since she arrived in the
Marshes. Again, her hand went to the hilt of her sword.

An idea came to
her. She placed her sword in the hole. It went in about a quarter of its length
before there was a deafening thud as it was crushed beneath slabs of stone.
Marybeth jumped backwards, dropping the rest of the shattered weapon. She
shivered at the reverberating rumble that echoed around the Chamber. At least
her suspicions were correct.

Her
hands shook as she picked up the staff and moved on to the next hole. This one
showed a pointed-eared beast sitting upon a throne. Beneath it were smaller
beasts reaching their arms up to the beast in supplication. Marybeth shuddered
and moved on.

The
next hole showed a fortress. It had a tower in one corner that was higher than
the others by some distance. There were figures with pained expressions, on
their knees and holding their ears. Another porthole depicted an army dropping
their weapons and fleeing from ghastly figures that emerged from sand.

All
around the Chamber the drawings filled her with curiosity. She vowed to return
one day and learn all of the secrets. She wondered if any of the other Order
members knew of this Chamber. The face changer implied that Iskandar might.
Eventually she came across a hole which showed the map table.

Like
the table itself, the detail in the picture was exquisite. The stones were
scattered about the table in what appeared to be the locations they had fallen
only four days ago. “Surely not,”
she whispered. But the more she
studied the picture the more she realised it was. There were three stones drawn
together in Brimsgrove.

“By
the Holy moons.” This is what she had come for. She peered inside, holding the
lantern up to the entrance. She could just make out the bottom corner of a
piece of yellow parchment. She placed the lantern down next to her and using
two hands slowly inserted the staff again into the hole.

She
screamed as the stone slab slammed down on the staff, causing splinters to fly
in her face. Cursing, she clawed at her face and hurled what was left of the
staff to the other side of the Chamber. It bounced off the wall and landed on
the floor.

“Well,
this is just brilliant,” she shouted as she paced backwards and forwards. She
stormed over to the table and read the inscription again.

“
Only
the worthy will the Custodians permit the right,

To borrow a scroll from the Marshes of Night.”

“Only
the worthy? Only the worthy?” she shouted. She must be worthy. The picture
showed the location of the stones as she had seen them a few nights ago. She
was the only one here that had witnessed the ceremony. It had to be her.

Always have faith in yourself.
The
words popped into her head. They were the words her father used to say whenever
she was worried how others would view her. She spied the broken staff on the
other side of the Chamber. She had tested the porthole with her staff, unsure
what would happen. If she did not think she was worthy enough to try the
porthole with her own flesh, then why would it let her take the scroll? She
began pacing again.

There
was no other choice, she was going to have to insert her arm into the hole. She
doubted very much that she would be considered worthy, given her intentions to
bring down Iskandar. Yet she had to believe in herself. She stopped pacing and
thought of the mysterious man. He was helping her to find the scroll but the
question was could he be trusted? She had no idea who he was or what his
intentions were. She only knew he had not been wrong so far.

“Gloom
devour me if I’m wrong,” she said, stopping in front of the hole.

She
took a few deep breaths and raised her hand to the hole. Beads of sweat
trickled down her face as first her hand and then her arm entered the darkness.
She screwed up her face and uttered a silent prayer to the Moon Gods, expecting
to experience excruciating pain at any moment.

She
was surprised when her fingertips touched the parchment. It felt like sand, as
if it would fall apart if held for too long. Once she had enough of a grip, she
withdrew her arm, sobbing in disbelief that her arm had made it out intact.

“I’ll
take that,” a male voice said.

Marybeth
whirled around to see a figure on the other side of the Chamber pointing a
crude sword at her. His face was obscured by the shadow cast by the table. All
she could see clearly was the blade he held. It had been snapped in half but
still looked sharp. He held his other hand out with the palm facing upwards
motioning towards the scroll. Marybeth laughed at the gesture.

“Leave
before I force you to gut yourself with your own blade,” she said.

“Don’t
be foolish, hag, we both know your sorceress powers are useless here,” he said.

Doubt
seeped into her mind.
Was he telling the truth?
She suddenly realised
that she had not been able to use any of her abilities since she had entered
the Marshes of Night. Her sixth sense, usually infallible, had failed her
earlier above ground, as had her simple elevation trick when she had fallen into
the drowning mud.

The man must
have read
the expression on her face as it was his
turn to laugh.

“You
didn’t know. Well, well, looks like my master was wrong about you, Marybeth.”

She
flinched at the mention of her name. The man stepped forward out of the shadows
for the first time. She recoiled at the sight of him. He had a small mouth shaped
into a sneer. His crooked nose had been broken many times and his eyes
protruded too far out of their sockets. All of this was overshadowed, however,
by his greasy hair. One side fell in long knotted tousles down to his neck,
whilst the other side was shaved close to the scalp, giving an uneven
appearance.

“Now
kindly hand over the scroll and let’s avoid any unpleasantness,” the man said.

“Make
me,” Marybeth replied. “I don’t need any powers to handle a serf like you.”

With
a quickness that surprised her, the man closed the gap between them and with a
flick of his blade opened up a small cut on her arm. Marybeth jumped back and
crouched in a defensive stance, her hand instinctively holding her cut arm. The
man glared at her defiance.

“I’m already
getting
tired of this, crone. Let’s not delay the
inevitable. I have a sword and you are unarmed.”

He
flicked his blade again with frightening speed. Before she saw the movement and
maybe have a chance to react, Marybeth felt a sting in her other arm.

“We
can play this game for as long as it takes. The end result will be the same—I
will have that scroll. The only difference will be if you are recognisable or
not.”

Marybeth’s
shoulders sagged, she realised she had no choice and reluctantly held out the
scroll to the man.

“That’s
more like—”

He
never got to finish the sentence as Marybeth rammed her palm into his nose,
hearing the satisfying crack as she broke it. She followed this up quickly by
sweeping his legs from underneath him and then kicking him in the gut. The man
grunted as his breath was taken away.

“Your
nose didn’t look right healed,” she said as she ran towards the hole.

She
had submerged her body most of the way in when she screamed in agony. The man
stabbed his sword into her calf. Her eyes filled with tears and her stomach
lurched. She screamed again as he began to drag her back into the Chamber by pulling
her injured leg. She frantically tried to purchase a grip inside the hole, but
she could find only smooth stone. He twisted the blade in her leg causing her
to black out from the pain.

When
she came to, she caught a glimpse of his foot disappearing into the hole. She
tried to pursue him but her leg gave out as soon as she tried to put weight on
it
. I have to get that scroll back
, she thought to herself. She realised
as she pulled herself towards the hole that she hadn’t even had time to look at
the scroll and had no idea what was written on it.

Although
she was hindered by her leg, she reasoned that her attacker was bigger than her
and would find it harder to manoeuvre through the tight confines of the
corridor. His vision would also have been impaired because his nose was broken.
Ignoring the pain, she chased after the scroll. She was encouraged by the
sounds of his exertions ahead of her.

She pulled
herself to one leg and hopped after him. She rounded the
final bend in time to hear his footsteps bounding up the stairwell. She
increased her efforts knowing once he got out into the open, she would have
practically lost any chance of catching him. The moonlight from the green moon
revealed drops of blood on the stairs where her attacker still bled.
Good,
she thought, but each step she climbed sent a shooting pain through her.   

She got to
the top of the stairs and was shocked to see that he was
standing in front of her. It took a moment for her to register all colour had
drained from his face. He was looking up at the trees. She followed his gaze
and gasped at what she saw.

Tall,
human-like figures covered from head to foot in short white fur, sat perched on
the trees. They possessed no facial features but for two square slit eyes that
shone a brilliant blue. Their most striking features, however, were the
enormous wings that emerged from their shoulders and towered over their heads.
These were scaly and ended in sharp points.

The
more she looked, the more of the creatures she noticed. They were scattered
about on all the branches that overhung the Scroll Room entrance. The white
figures were glowing slightly in the darkness like snow. Their silence was
eerie and only added to their imposing presence.

She
was so transfixed by them that she did not noticed her attacker start to move.
He drew his half sword and cautiously edged closer to the Marshes. It was clear
he was poised to make a dash for it. Marybeth did not know whether to stay
where she was or pursue him.

All
of a sudden, the white spectres swooped down from the trees. They landed
deftly, all with one leg bent, almost touching the ground, their head bowed
forward and their wings engulfing the rest of their body. As one they slowly
rose to their feet, their heads straightening only when they were fully
standing. All of this was done without a sound. The synchronised motion sent
chills down Marybeth’s spine as did the unbroken circle they formed around her
and the attacker.

“What
do you want from me?” the man shouted.

He
circled cautiously, showing his half blade to each of them in turn. For the
first time, he noticed Marybeth. Surprise registered on his face, but he
decided that the threat of the ominous white figures was more pressing.

“I
am taking this scroll. If I have to slay each and every one of you, I will,” he
said.

Silence
was their only reply, the glowing cobalt eyes staring at him.

Marybeth
took a step back down the spiral stairs. She wanted to warn her attacker that
these must be the Custodians the message on the table spoke of. Finally, two of
the pale figures broke the circle by stepping forward and then sidestepping in
front of their neighbour, another two pairs stepped forward and did the same so
that there were two rows of three bodies forming a gap the man could get
through.

The
man saw this and edged towards the gap, his half sword still held aloft. As he
passed the first pair of Custodians, they shifted abruptly to face him. He
tensed into a fighting stance. When they made no move, he relaxed and a
satisfied smirk appearing on his face. He proceeded through the gap.