Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (21 page)

An elderly woman
was the next to make her way to the gallows. She turned and hugged her husband
before gracefully making her way through the mass. By that time the boy had
reached the gallows and had placed his stone into the bag
Mondorlous held out to him. Even from where the king sat,
Jacquard could see it was orange. The boy gave his name to a young squire who
made a note of it before he was roughly manhandled by Delmut to stand under the
first noose. A box was placed in front of him and he was ordered to stand on
it. As he did so, Delmut attached the noose round the boy’s neck and tied his
hands behind his back, whispering something in his ear and cackling wickedly as
he did so.

Iskandar
was on Delmut immediately, roughly grabbing him by his throat and chastising
him. Delmut merely shrugged at the scolding, but treated the elderly woman with
slightly less disdain.

One
by one, others made their way to the gallows. The next two were young men. One
had a calm resolve about his demeanour as he walked purposefully towards the
platform and the other created a stir by roughly elbowing people out of the
way. Jacquard was appalled to see that he was covered in blood. When he got to
the gallows, he put the stone in the bag and then spat in Mondorlous’s face,
causing the crowd to gasp.

Delmut
looked over to Jefferson questionably, but Jefferson shrugged. What could be
done to the man, that wasn’t about to be done? Still, the bloody-faced man
completed his little show by defiantly marching to the opposite end of the
gallows and placing the noose around his own neck. The other man also chose not
to take the noose next to the first two, but instead followed the blood soaked
man to the end, all the time keeping a watchful eye on the rebel.

Jacquard
was surprised to see Mikel, one of his own knights, escort a pretty young girl
to the platform before emotionally kissing her good-bye. He rebuked himself for
not knowing about his situation. Mikel was perhaps the most fiercest of his
knights. A stoical man who Jacquard would have said was incapable of love. He
turned to Longshaw, who looked equally surprised.

The
crowd talked excitedly, drowning out the wailing of the mother. Some were
pointing at various members of the lineup, whilst others looked around to see
who was next. Jacquard was appalled to see coin exchanging hands as people
wagered on the outcome.

Jacquard
sensed Althalos begin to get up.

“Not
yet,” he said and his son shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
I’m not ready
for you to leave me just yet
. He realised how hypocritical he was being,
but he didn’t care. “Let a few more go up first.”

Jacquard
was shocked to see the next man climb the stairs. He recognised him as one of
his former knights and trusted friends. Ulric von Coolidge limped across the
platform in a dignified manner. Several onlookers recognised him and cried out
in distress.

Jacquard
felt a pang of sadness as he watched Ulric allow himself to be tied up. He
didn’t deserve such an end. He was a proud man who had been badly injured whilst
fighting for the realm and did not take too kindly to Jacquard’s orders to
stand down and retire. Jacquard felt the familiar regret at the incident. As king,
he had been mistaken in how he had handled the whole affair, a fault he was
determined not to repeat with Guynor. Ulric never glanced his way once and
fixed his one good eye on the wooden box in front of him.

The
next to go up was perhaps the most upsetting. Jacquard was drawn to a commotion
in the crowd immediately below him. An overweight man began leading an older
black man through the crowd. The black man seemed oddly confused by this.

“Master?
What’s a happening? Jonas doesn’t want to go up there.”

The
overweight man shook his head in a defeated expression and tried to soothe the
black man. He motioned for some guards to help him. All of the time, the man
struggled and looked back beseechingly at his master and asked what he had done
wrong. It was clear that the man was simple and didn’t comprehend what was
happening to him.

The
scene caused several people to call out in sympathy, urging the simple man to
be brave. By the time the noose was tied around the man’s neck, he was openly
weeping and singing to himself. The man covered in blood on the end taunted
him.

“Burnt
skin is going to be chosen for the sacrifice. That’s if he doesn’t shit himself
to death first. Mind you, will anyone even notice?” he said and then hooted
with laughter. This prompted several onlookers to pelt him with whatever they
had to hand, which caused him to laugh harder.

“ENOUGH!”
Iskandar’s voice rang out. The crowd immediately ceased and silence once again
engulfed the square apart from the muffled sobs of some of the
crowd and the wordless song, sung by the simple black man,
“bring him out,” the leader of the Order said at last, talking to someone by
the library.

The
crowd all turned to see who he could be talking about and were astounded to see
Jaegal, his arms and legs bound, being carried towards the gallows. Jaegal
struggled furiously, cursing Iskandar all the way.

The
sight of the enraged member of the Order forced Jacquard to recall the incident
from a couple of days ago. When Jaegal had delivered the dead body to Iskandar,
the leader of the Order had not hesitated in summoning the guards. At first
Jacquard had not fully understood what was happening. It was only when Iskandar
apologised to Jaegal, did he realise what Iskandar intended to do.

According
to a little known law of the Ritual, if a stoneholder was found dead before the
day of the sacrifice, then whomever found the body assumed their place in the
Ritual. It was not common knowledge and Iskandar admitted to Jacquard afterward
he had never told the others in the Order of the law, in case a situation like
this ever arose. He stated he would never have got members of the Order to
escort stoneholders if they had known of the law.

Jacquard
doubted anyone would have volunteered for such a task. He was not impressed
with how Iskandar had tricked his brethren, but recognised the reasoning behind
it. If a complete stranger found the body, there was nothing to stop them from
denying it, which would only lead to a long drawn out investigation.

Jaegal
had tried to flee, but Iskandar held out his hand in his direction and somehow
froze Jaegal mid-stride. It was the first time Jacquard had witnessed Iskandar
demonstrate his abilities and even he felt a cold chill at how emotionless
Iskandar was in condemning his supposed friend.

“Don’t
listen to a word this trickster says!” Jaegal yelled, causing a stir amongst
the crowd. “He is making it all up as he goes along. I never received a stone
and look at me, bound before you, because on a whim, the Order has decreed that
I take the place of the dead woman who received the stone.”

One
of the guards ushering him to the gallows tried to clamp his hand over Jaegal’s
mouth. Jaegal bit down on his fingers, causing him to scream in agony.

“Hear
me, Frindothians. This Ritual is a farce,” Jaegal said. “Marybeth of the Order
has not yet shown up. The Gloom will see this and destroy us all. The only way
to appease it will be to destroy all of the stone h—”

It
was Mondorlous that eventually silenced him. He rammed a cloth in his friend’s
mouth, and then fastened it in place. Jacquard felt a pang of sympathy as he
saw Jaegal’s eyes go wide with fear, as the cloth caused him to gag. Tears
trickled down his cheeks and he pleaded with Mondorlous to take the gag out.
Mondorlous, however, was unmoved by his desperation and made an elaborate show
of reaching into Jaegal’s pocket to remove the stone and place it in the black
bag.

“I
never received a stone either,” the blood-soaked man crowed, although it was
obvious he was jumping on the bandwagon. Delmut followed Mondorlous’s example
and placed a gag in his mouth as well.

The
damage had been done, however. The crowd was openly muttering their protests.
It was one thing for an ordinary citizen to make such accusations knowing they
could be about to die, but when a member of the Order, the bastion of truth in
Frindoth, there to serve and protect its people, made such accusations, the
people were less inclined to believe he was behaving invidiously. Eventually,
the mumblings of the crowds turned into open defiance.

“We
demand the truth,” said an angry male voice from the crowd that was met with
several cheers of approval.

“For
too long we have accepted the Order’s word. Where is the proof?” a woman cried
out to more cheers of agreement.

“Cut
them down,” someone else shouted, which was then taken up with a feverish chant
that reverberated around the square. “Cut them down, cut them down.”

Jacquard
shifted uneasily in his seat. The last thing they all needed was an open revolt
on the day of the Ritual.

“People
of Frindoth,” Iskandar shouted. “I assure you that the Ritual is absolutely
necessary …”

His
words, however, were drowned out by the chanting mob.
We are losing control
,
Jacquard thought. Several of his knights instructed the guards to circle around
the crowd in an attempt to control them, should they get too unruly. Jacquard
could see Iskandar contemplating whether or not to silence them.
That is the
last thing he should do. A display of his power will only increase their fear.

The king
was too intent on the scene to be aware of Althalos next to him. It wasn’t
until Jacquard noticed several heads start to turn his way and then registering
a state of shock on their faces that he realised what Althalos had done.

His
son stood on his chair and held the white stone above his head for all to see.
Slowly the chanting began to die away until once more a silence consumed the
square.

“If
this Ritual is such a farce and Iskandar is indeed making it up as he goes
along, then I ask you, why would he risk the king’s wrath by giving a stone to
the prince,” Althalos said. There was a slight tremble to his voice as he addressed
the crowd but he projected it well. “I can assure you all. The Ritual is very
real and Iskandar is responsible for nothing more than ensuring that it is
conducted in the way it has always been. History has shown us that it is unwise
to incite the fury of the Gloom, I beg you.”

With
that, Jacquard sat frozen as Althalos slowly got down from his throne and
kissed him on the cheek, before making his way to the gallows. Jacquard swelled
with pride as the people parted for him and knelt on one knee in a show of
respect. Thoughts of his son’s possible demise were momentarily forgotten.

Iskandar,
for his part, pushed Delmut to one side and personally secured the prince to
the gallows, before kneeling himself in front of Althalos.

Nine
of the twelve stoneholders had now been strung up. Althalos had chosen the
noose next to the hard-faced man, respectfully keeping his distance from Ulric.
Three nooses ominously swung back and forth between them. Jacquard glanced to
the sky, the sun shone brilliantly down upon them all. It couldn’t be long
before it was time.

“I
don’t like this,” Jefferson whispered in his ear.

“What
happens if the other three do not show?” Jacquard asked. Jefferson shrugged, he
stood up to get a better view of the crowd; as he did so his joints cracked.

“I
don’t know. It has never happened before. Only Iskandar knows.”

Jacquard
looked at the leader of the Order. Iskandar was waiting patiently at the
platform steps, both arms resting behind his back, so that he was almost
mimicking those that were tied to the gallows. He looked relaxed and in
control.
He is keeping something from me
.

He
realised that since Iskandar had begun the Ritual, he had not looked at his
King once. He beckoned Jefferson to his side.

“What
do you make of Iskandar’s behaviour?”

He
watched Jefferson regard the leader of the Order and then look back at him with
a confused expression.

“Nothing
unusual, my lord, why?”

Frustrated,
Jacquard waved him away.

“Tell
Longshaw to protect Althalos if anything goes wrong.”

“Sire?”

Jacquard
looked at him to convey he was deadly serious.

“He
is the prince. Do not play into Vashna’s hands.”

“Of
course, my lord,” Jefferson said and then hobbled off to talk to Longshaw.
Below him, Jacquard saw Iskandar’s eyes flick towards him and then back to the
crowd. The leader of the Order then licked his lips nervously.
He’s
definitely hiding something.

On
the east coast of Rora, the Baceid Ocean was famous for the way the waves fell
upon the shore. Here, for some reason, when the waves receded deep into the sea
bed, they seemed to pause an abnormal amount of time before crashing upon the
sandy beach.

Iskandar
believed this had something to do with the blue moon but Jacquard was not
convinced. Pewtory, a famous bard in the distant past, had described the action
as “Rora holding its breath before the madness came.”’ Over the years a common
phrase was coined by Frindothians to apply this description to everyday life.
It was known quite simply as “Rora’s breath.”

Jacquard
thought “Rora’s breath” had never been more evident than it was in the market
square at the moment. Everyone seemed strangely quiet. An air of expectancy
consumed the crowd. It was as if everyone automatically sensed the Gloom was
about to make its entrance. No one moved, not even shuffling to stand in a
better position. Even those of the nine stoneholders that had been crying
ceased their tears.

Jacquard
could not take his eyes off his son. He looked so young and vulnerable all of a
sudden. As much as he tried to appear unconcerned, Jacquard could see Althalos
was scared out of his mind. The prince’s bottom lip was trembling despite his
efforts to keep it still.

Jacquard
wanted nothing more than to go and comfort his son. The other stoneholders
displayed similar signs of fear. The black man was still singing, although
Jacquard could hear no sound coming from him. The young girl looked around
anxiously, her head jerking roughly as she did so. Only the hard faced man and
the blood soaked man on the end seemed immune to the inevitability of their
situation. They both stood still and waited patiently.

Jacquard
looked at Iskandar. He still hadn’t looked his way. Something very bad was
about to happen. Three people still had not shown and the Gloom’s arrival was
imminent.
What can I do? I put my faith in the Order to escort the stoneholders
to the waterfall. They’ve never failed me before. What am I supposed to do?
Jacquard noticed that one or two of the people below him were looking at him
expectantly for the answers.
I have no answers. What do you want from me?

And
then, it did not matter.

Despite
there not being a cloud in the sky, the natural daylight suddenly dimmed. The
sky dulled as if the sun had gone behind a dense cloud.
Gloomier,
Jacquard thought. Shapes and shadows became distorted. Mesmerized, no one
moved.

It
came out of nowhere, an almost transparent silhouette, feline in shape,
powerfully strolling on four legs towards the gallows. Not everyone saw it at
first and had to have it pointed out by those standing next to them. Even then,
some people still struggled to make it out.

As
it reached the foot of the steps, it reared onto its hind legs where it morphed
into a humanoid figure before ascending the stairs. It was a glimmer of grey
light, only visible because of the way it distorted the background behind it.
Jacquard likened the movement to a raindrop trickling over the surface of a
leaf. The Gloom was bigger than it had been twelve years ago but no less
daunting. Memories of the last Ritual, that he had tried desperately to erase,
now came thundering back into his mind.

At
the top of the steps, the shimmer stopped and surveyed the crowd. Two burning
red eyes could now be seen staring out of thin air. There was a collective gasp
as it looked over everyone. Jacquard thought it took in every single face in
that one sweeping motion, assessing everyone, sorting out the weak from the
strong.

He
felt the urge to flee. A totally selfish impulse that at once he felt disgusted
for feeling. His son was up there. These were his people, yet the dread he felt
made him want to protect himself and only himself. He wondered if others felt
the same, but he was too transfixed by the abhorrent entity to look.

The
Gloom turned its attention towards those hanging from the nooses. It towered
over all of them. It approached the boy on the end first. As it stood in front
of him, Jacquard was appalled to notice the boy was still visible through the
Gloom. His features were magnified as the creature appeared to sniff every inch
of his body.

The
boy who could have been Althalos’s age tried his best to be brave by squeezing
his eyes shut as if willing the Gloom away. Jacquard’s heart went out to him as
a sob escaped his lips and tears trickled down his face, looking twice the size
they normally would. From the crowd the boy’s mother protested weakly.

The
Gloom turned sharply, its red eyes finding her straight away. It then did
something that chilled Jacquard to his core. It smiled at her, a set of white
fangs suddenly appearing beneath the scarlet eyes and a purple forked tongue
slithered over their surface.

The
Gloom continued along the line. The elderly black man ceased singing and lost
control of his bowels. Ulric von Coolidge did not fare too much better. Here
was a man Jacquard had seen surrounded by a group of the most ferocious
warriors and had laughed in their faces. However, when the Gloom stood before
him, his face lost all colour and he squirmed to get away.

The
Gloom then came to the empty nooses. It studied them closely before looking
sharply at Iskandar. This was it, the first time that the Ritual had not been
strictly adhered to.
Spare us, you monstrosity. For the three moons’ sake,
spare us
. He had never felt such a failure as a king in all of his reign.

The
Gloom had no intention of sparing anyone, though. It raised its arms up to the
sky and a piercing screech filled the air. It was like no other sound Jacquard
had ever heard before, a shrill sound that caused people to cover their ears.

Several
of the crowd fell to their knees, crying out screams of their own. Jacquard
himself flung the palms of his hands to his ears which felt as if someone had
set them on fire. He noticed several crows take to the air from the stanchion
of the stand and felt envious they could so easily escape the terrible noise.
However, the birds seemed unable to fly correctly and veered off into the
library walls, falling to the ground with a thud. He saw the hens in their
cages go berserk as they rammed into the metal bars in an effort to break free.

The
unbearable noise forced him to his knees. He looked over at his son and noticed
the pain etched on his face. He realised it was worse for the nine stoneholders,
who were next to the Gloom and could not cover their ears. The elderly woman’s
head had lolled on her shoulders and it was unclear whether she was still
standing on her own, or if the noose was holding her up.

“YOU
FAIL ME? I DEMAND ONE BODY OF FLESH AND BONE EVERY TWELVE YEARS AND YOU FAIL
ME?”

The
words filled Jacquard’s mind, although he was sure the Gloom had not spoken out
loud. Around him, people rolled on the floor in agony. Some had blood seeping
from their ears. He could feel the rage of the Gloom pulsating through his body
causing his face to burn as he shivered uncontrollably at the same time.
Jacquard felt as if his head was being battered by an unseen force at every
angle imaginable.

Awful
images ran through his mind: bodies being eaten by wolves; skin slashed open;
crystal clear rivers contaminated with blood; his wife’s crushed skull lying
underneath a horse. As these scenes flashed through his mind, the only thing
that remained in each of the images were two terrible red eyes floating in the
sky.

After
what seemed like an excessive amount of time, the screeching stopped.
Immediately the pressure within his head ceased. Disorientated, Jacquard
staggered to his feet. Jefferson put an arm around his shoulders to steady him.
Why am I in worse shape than you?
he thought as he looked at his
flustered friend. The older man barely showed any signs of discomfort.

“Where
did it go?” Jefferson asked.

Confused,
Jacquard looked towards the gallows. The Gloom was nowhere to be seen. He
searched a while more to make sure, but it was definitely no longer on the
platform.
If it is not there, then where is it?

A
piercing scream answered his thoughts. From within the stand, the Gloom held a
man by his throat. His feet were not touching the ground. If it was not for the
fact that Jacquard could just make out the faint grey silhouette against the
people seated behind it, he would have sworn the man was just hovering by
himself.

The
man desperately tried to prise the Gloom’s grip from around his throat. But to
the man’s dismay, where the Gloom’s hands should have been, the man just
clasped thin air. Some brave onlookers tried to help the man, but they too
found their attempts to wrestle the Gloom as futile as tackling smoke.

Jacquard
watched in horror, as slowly, excruciatingly, the Gloom pinched the man’s cheek
and slowly peeled off a strip of skin down to the neck. The man howled in vain
as he attempted to put his skin back in place. The shadow nightmare continued
to pull more skin away from bone. Pandemonium broke out as people scrambled to
get away. The crowd fled from the bloody scene. Bodies fell beneath onrushing
feet and were crushed. Market stalls were pushed over and trampled on. Fine
pots and jewellery smashed as they hit the floor. The panicked cries of
hundreds of people echoed throughout the square.

The
city guards were helpless against the masses. Some tried to restore order and
evacuate the square in a safe fashion, but before long even the guards
surrendered to the chaos and fled with the masses. Jacquard noticed a couple of
his men abandon all pretence of protecting the city and flee themselves. Their
cowardice angered him.

The
Gloom discarded the lifeless body to one side and seemed to vanish. The shadowy
entity emerged on the other side of the square where it sent bodies flying head
over heels. It had morphed again into its feline form and bit the head clean
off one woman’s shoulders before moving on to its next victim. The body stood
upright for a few seconds before collapsing in a heap.

The
re-emergence of the Gloom by the library entrance sent the panicked herd of
people hurtling in another direction. The way they shifted direction reminded
Jacquard of a flock of birds swooping away from a hunting falcon.

He
absorbed the chaos around him for a few moments more before snapping to
attention.

“Longshaw,
Mikel to me,” he said.

Longshaw
obeyed immediately but was distracted by the scenes unfolding around him. Mikel
hesitated briefly, glancing over at his lover on the gallows. However, when he
spoke again, they both snapped to attention.

“Send
the word out to open all of the city gates!” he said. He could see the
uncertainty in their eyes. As a rule, only two gates were ever permitted to be
opened at any one time. This was to control the flow of traffic in and out of
Lilyon. “Do it, we don’t want this place to become a blood bath,” he barked.

The
two knights tapped their left shoulders in salute and ran off. The Gloom
disappeared down the path by the library, leaving a trail of corpses in its
wake.

“My king,
what about Vashna? If we open all of the gates, we will be vulnerable to
attack. Anyone may enter in the chaos,” Jefferson said, grabbing his arm.
Jacquard shrugged his friend’s hand off irritably.

“Let
them enter. If they are stupid enough to come when that thing is roaming about,
then so be it.”

“Forgive
me, my lord,” Jefferson said. He grabbed Jacquard’s arm a second time, however,
“We must get you to safety.”

“I
am not deserting my son,” Jacquard said.

“I
will make sure he is safe. You are the king, Frindoth needs you now more than
ever. We must get you to safety.”

As
he spoke, he signalled for two guards to accompany him. Jacquard looked at his
son who was watching him. He knew perfectly well the discussion Jacquard was
having and nodded his agreement.

“I
am putting my son’s life in your hands,” he said to Jefferson at last.

He
looked once more at his son and began to turn away. As he did so, a man
struggling against the tide of people caught his attention. He recognised that
it was the father of the boy who was first to be strung up. He was heading
towards the gallows with a knife in his mouth, no doubt to cut his son down.

Jacquard
saw Iskandar had noticed him too and was surprised to see Mondorlous move to
the edge of the platform to block his path. The father began to argue with the
giant of a man and was knocked to the floor. Whilst this was happening,
Iskandar spoke urgently to Delmut who nodded as a sly grin formed on his ugly
face.

The
keeper of the Pit took one look up at Jacquard before kicking at the box from
underneath the boy. It shifted a few feet but did not topple over the edge.

“No!”
Jacquard cried out as he watched Delmut kick the crate again so that it now
teetered on the edge of the platform. The boy stood on tiptoes trying to make
the box take some of his body weight.

“Stop!”

Delmut
looked one more time at Jacquard and smiled before kicking the box over the
edge. The boy fell instantly, the rope tightening around his neck. He
spluttered for air and his legs kicked furiously trying to find some sort of
solid purchase.