Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (10 page)

“Look, I
appreciate your intentions. I understand them, I really do. You want me to be
as prepared as I can be, but until the Ritual takes place, I want to spend as
little time as I can thinking and worrying about it. Is that clear?”

 “Watch your
tongue, Prince. Remember who you are talking to,” Jefferson said, shakily
getting to his feet. Althalos rushed to help him.

“Sit down, sit
down. I meant no offence,” Althalos said and was relieved when Jefferson allowed
him to help him back onto the bench. “All I meant was, there is too much
violence in this world, surely you can accept that I don’t want to hear about
it now.”

“That is your
father talking,” Jefferson said.

“Well, I am to
be king one day. So it is good I am beginning to sound like one.”

“You are not a king
yet. You would do well to remember that.”

The words
wounded him. He had meant the statement in a light-hearted manner and was
surprised Jefferson had not interpreted it that way. He noticed a pile of his
clothes resting against a pillar. They were clean and neatly folded; his dirty
ones had been removed. He had not even noticed Shana do this and the thought of
her made him smile.

“Althalos, the
Ritual is a terrifying experience. I want to prepare you for every eventuality.
It will not do to have the prince of the realm blubbering like a baby when he
is on the gallows,” Jefferson said.

“Is that what
you think I will do, sob like a coward?” Althalos said. Jefferson raised his
hands to calm him down.

“I just want to
help you. You would not be the first man to weep. I have seen men lose control
of their bladders.”

“Enough!”
Althalos finished dressing, angrily pulling on his shirt and doing up buttons.
“Your ghost stories will only make me feel a quivering mess. We will see who
weeps on the day,” he said and then stormed out of the room, leaving Jefferson
with a wry smile on his face.

The
days passed and still there was no change in Janna’s condition. Rhact watched
his wife soak a flannel in a bucket of water and apply it to their daughter’s
head. After hearing Janna’s screams, he had rushed to her room. He found Kiana
cradling Janna who was sitting up in her bed, staring at the stone in front of
her as if it had bitten her.

The
stone itself was unremarkable, a smooth deep red rock. For a moment all he
could do was stare at it. Kiana told him to take the stone away and keep it out
of sight. He had been reluctant to touch it for a moment before he obeyed her,
handling the stone like he would a baby animal that could break. Janna had
sobbed uncontrollably. She had been hyperventilating and as Rhact left the room,
he was aware of Kiana trying to calm her down.

Eventually
Janna slipped into a trance-like state, the shock of the stone taking her, her
arms wrapped around her knees as if to give comfort. She stared out of her
bedroom window and would not respond to anything Rhact or Kiana said.

After
an hour of just sitting, Jensen had slapped her. The act infuriated Rhact and
he hauled him downstairs, clipping him round the head several times as he did
so. Deep down, though, he had been more concerned that Janna had not reacted
apart for her cheek swelling.

He
returned later and tried everything to coax Janna out of her trance. When he got
no response, he and Kiana briefly discussed the idea of taking Janna to see the
witch. Kiana thought maybe she hadn’t left Longcombe yet. Rhact knew she had,
though. Jon Holdsworth had said she was leaving immediately.

He
had never experienced any kind of witchcraft before and deep down, despite
hearing stories to the contrary, did not believe it actually existed. The sight
of Jon Holdsworth’s vacant expression, completely oblivious to the witch
controlling his body, haunted him.

Now,
two days on, the heat of the first rays of dawn shone through the window of
Janna’s room and woke him. He and Kiana had taken to keeping vigil over Janna’s
bed. He had moved the rocking chair upstairs to try and make sleeping in the
room more comfortable. The first night, he and Kiana had resorted to sleeping
on the floor. He looked at his daughter, who stared vacantly past him as if
frozen in shock. There did not seem to be any change in her condition.

He
left the room and went to find Kiana and Jensen. They sat around the kitchen
table each cradling a cup of hot tea. Jensen went over to the stove and made a
cup for his father. Rhact attempted a smile as Jensen placed the steaming drink
down in front of him. Jensen nodded in response. The tea tasted good. The
warmth injected some life into the numbness he felt. Kiana was intent on
chasing the spoon around her mug rather than drinking the tea. She looked
terrible. Her face was pale and drawn and she seemed to have aged over night.
He realised she was probably thinking the same about him.

Despite
getting some sleep, he suddenly felt fatigued. He collapsed on one of the
chairs, his head in his hands.

For
a while none of them spoke.

“She’s
not dead yet!” Jensen said. Kiana shot him a look. “What? I’m just saying.”

“Well
don’t just say then. There is a thing called tact, Jensen. None of us want to
hear the possibility of Janna being sacrificed at the moment,” Kiana said.

“Why?”

“Excuse
me?”

“Why?
It’s happening. Why pretend that it is not? Let’s deal with it. It’s not as bad
as it could be.”

“On
what moon of Frindoth are you living on?” Kiana exploded. “How is it not that
bad? Your sister, you know, that fifteen-year-old girl up there, our daughter,
has been selected as part of the Ritual. It is the worst thing that could have
happened to us, you silly little boy. The thought of the Gloom touching … ripping
…”

Kiana’s
eyes filled with tears, she could not finish her sentence. There was an awkward
silence. Rhact felt a lump form in his throat.

“What
I meant,” Jensen began quietly, “is that she hasn’t been chosen yet. There is
still a good chance it will not be her. Let’s despair when we get to that
stage.”

 “It
won’t get that far,” Rhact said. He ignored the looks of disbelief on his wife’s
and son’s faces and continued, “She will not be going to Lilyon.”

“What
do you mean she won’t be going? We have to go. It is—”

Rhact
silenced his son by raising his hand.

“Do
you want to leave it to chance whether your sister lives or dies?” he said.

“Well
no, of course not. But you are talking as if we have a choice,” Jensen said.

Rhact
glanced at Kiana and saw the look of hope in her eyes. Moments ago she was on
the edge of despair and now he could feel the love she felt for him. Loved him
for wanting to do something to protect his family, for daring to believe there
was another way. He knew then and there, whatever he was about to say, she
would support him.

However,
he didn’t get to say anything as he was distracted by the sight of a distressed
Mertyn and Tyra approaching his house.

“Not
a word about the stone,” he hissed to Kiana and Jensen.

He
went to the door and opened it. Tyra ran the last few feet and wrapped herself
in his arms. Rhact hugged her back; one look at his best friend’s ashened face
told him all he needed to know.

“Who?”
Rhact asked.

“Brody,
we found it yesterday,” Mertyn replied, holding up a bright orange stone
exactly the same shape as the one that Rhact had in his pocket. Tears filled
his eyes. How could it even be possible that both their children had received a
stone? Brody was like a son to him.

“I’m
so sorry,” he managed to say, more to Tyra then to Mertyn.

Mertyn
knew the pain that Rhact would feel at the news. He was grateful when Kiana
appeared and guided Tyra away. Rhact stood aside for Mertyn to enter and
impulsively hugged him too as he went past. Mertyn raised just one arm and
flexed it round his friend’s back.

“Where
is he?” Jensen asked.

“Down
by the bridge,” Mertyn said, “he seems to be taking it well.”

Jensen
ran off to find his friend. Rhact raised his eyebrows questioningly at his
friend. “Well, as well anyone can take news like this,” he shrugged.

He
and Kiana spent the rest of the morning consoling their friends. They were in a
state of shock and all they kept on asking was “why?” Neither he nor Kiana
could provide an answer. Tyra and Mertyn did not notice that Janna was nowhere
to be seen. Rhact excused himself on a couple of occasions to make sure there
was no change in her condition.

Janna
still sat in the same position he’d left her. She stared out of the window,
fixated on nothing. He waved a hand in front of her face. Her eyes flicked
briefly to him and for a moment his heart soared but then just as quickly they
went back to the window. He was not even sure that Janna was looking out of the
window, it just happened to be the direction she faced. He put a blanket around
his daughter’s shoulders and left the room.

When
he came downstairs for the third time, the three of them talked more
pragmatically about the situation. He wanted nothing more than to tell them
about Janna and admit they were in the same situation. It would be so much
easier to share in their grief. Instead he had to pretend to be mortified
solely about his friend’s plight, when all he could think of was Janna and his
own family. Kiana seemed to sense what he was thinking and gave him an
encouraging smile.

“So
what are you going to do?” Rhact asked. Mertyn frowned at this.

“What
do you mean? We are going to Lilyon, of course. We have no choice in the
matter, you know that.” Rhact nodded, he glanced at Kiana who did not make eye
contact. He knew she wanted him to sound out Mertyn on their plans. It was a
massive risk but he owed it to Mertyn to at least test the water with him.
Besides, he wanted more than anything to share in his friend’s predicament. He
was the closest friend Rhact ever had, but suddenly he was not sure if he could
be trusted with their secret.

“Have
you thought about not going to Lilyon? Maybe, running away?” Rhact asked
tentatively.

He
paused before suggesting the running away plan. Tyra looked at Mertyn
hopefully, like a dog lifts its head when a stranger walks past.

Rhact
realised she was completely broken. There was no sign of her normally impeccable
appearance today. Her cheeks were puffy from crying and her blonde hair had
been carelessly scooped up and tied into a bun. Mertyn snorted at the
suggestion.

“And
how do you suggest we get away with that one then? Tell the witch to look in
the other direction whilst we make a break for it? And what about the rest of
the people selected, what about Frindoth as a whole? If Brody doesn’t show up,
then the other eleven poor bastard stoneholders will get sacrificed to the
Gloom anyway. The Ritual will be sabotaged, the agreement between man and Gloom
broken, then what? Huh? Who knows what the Gloom will do.

“I’ll
tell you what, it will destroy Frindoth, devour it town by town, city by city.
Once we break our agreement with it, there is nothing to stop it doing as it
pleases. You know this, Rhact. You know that is why the Ritual takes place in
the first place. It stinks like a Lilyon brothel, but it is life.”

“He
was only trying to help,” Kiana said weakly.

“I
know he was only trying to help,” Mertyn said, rounding on her. “I appreciate
that, but stupid ideas are not going to help matters.”

“All
I was saying is that if we were in your situation, I would be doing everything
I could to protect my family,” Rhact said.

Instantly
he knew he had said the wrong thing. Mertyn exploded with rage, tipping over
the table. Tyra flinched at her husband’s violence. Mertyn strode over to Rhact,
bending over so his nose was almost touching Rhact’s. He prodded his friend in
the chest. Rhact was too fixated on Mertyn’s anger to notice the pain.

“And
I’m not doing enough to protect mine, is that what you are saying, friend?” he
said through clenched teeth, his whole body trembling with rage.

Rhact
remained seated. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it when he couldn’t
think of anything to say. He could feel the rage emanating from his friend as
he stared at him. The tension hung in the air like smoke. Eventually, it seemed
Mertyn’s anger left him, his shoulders sagged and his head drooped. Rhact tried
to put a reassuring hand on his neck, but Mertyn shrugged it aside.

Without
a word he turned and left the house, leaving the door ajar. He looked at Tyra
and flicked his head. Like a dutiful wife, she rose slowly and followed. Before
she reached the door, Kiana tried to reconcile the situation,

“Rhact
was only trying to—”

“Leave
it, Kiana,” Tyra interrupted before she could finish her sentence. “We are
friends.”

“So
that’s it? You are just going to walk off?” Tyra paused, Kiana watched her
hands clench and then relax.

“We
will be leaving at noon tomorrow. It would be nice if you are there,” she said
before continuing without looking back.

*
* *

Jhon
Roland was more commonly known as “Ucking Jhon” for the simple reason he could
not get through a single sentence without using expletives. He lived alone and
was generally considered a nuisance by those that knew and worked with him. He
was an out and out drunk who only ever worked to pay for the next bottle of the
‘golden syrup.’

As
the first rays of sunlight beamed through his bedroom window, Jhon was lying
with his head leaning on his desk. Drool fell out of his mouth to form a puddle
on the book he was reading. In his right hand he still gripped the half drunk
bottle of whiskey from the night before. Scattered at his feet, were numerous
empty bottles of ale he only vaguely remembered drinking.

“Fucking
daylight,” he mumbled as he looked up at the window, squinting through one eye.
“I’ll show you, you fucking bright fucker, trying to shine in my fucking
window.”

He
stood up to close the shutters but immediately regretted the motion as a
searing pain attacked his skull.

“Fucking
head! Damn whiskey! May the Gloom come and take you.”

Ucking
Jhon held out the bottle of whiskey in front of him, staring at it angrily, as
if it was the bottle’s fault that he was feeling so bad. After a few moments,
he shrugged and gulped down some more of the drink, swaying as he did so.
Squinting again against the light, he stepped toward the window but immediately
found himself flying through the air. His arms windmilled as he attempted to
regain his balance after he stepped on one of the empty bottles. He landed hard
on his back covered in the whiskey; the bottle he had stepped on rolled away.
For a moment Ucking Jhon’s mind was swimming and all he could see were stars.

“Fucking
bottles,” he said.

As
his head cleared, he glanced around the small room, taking in a half-empty
wardrobe, a wooden chair and a small single bed. Coupled with the desk, these
objects made up his life. Although he had not slept in his bed, it was still
unmade from the night before last.