Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (38 page)

“Squeeze.”

Stasiak
screamed his frustration as his allies closed in around him preventing him from
fighting the prince. He killed several of them in an effort to free up some
room. Panic engulfed the trapped men. They tried to fight their way out of the
wall of bodies but with their arms squashed against their sides, they were
savagely slaughtered where they stood.
Like boiling bubbles trying to escape
a cauldron,
thought Althalos with a wry smile.

They
killed hundreds of the traitorous men in that fashion. With each body he
stepped over, Althalos saw himself getting nearer to Stasiak and then Vashna.
The warlord could now be seen in the very of the centre of the mass, his eyes
wide with disbelief.

Suddenly
the light changed. The basin which had been bathed in glorious sunlight became
shrouded in a thick mist. Clouds formed overhead, arriving out of nowhere. The
brownish smog fell upon them as swiftly as if a blanket had been cast over
them. It stopped bizarrely at their knees, which made the muddy grass plain
seem extra vibrant.

Lightning
illuminated the fog, brief flashes that showed the fear on everyone’s faces.
The annihilation continued but the men were more wary now, each glancing around
nervously. A hideous cry of pain came from within the crushed enemy forces.
Horses started whinnying. The trapped men tried to run forwards but were sliced
down.

“It’s
the Gloom, the Gloom is here,” someone cried.

“The
Gloom is upon us,” another chimed in.

Althalos
flinched as another flash of light occurred. This one was green, twisting the
features on the enemies’ faces to make them appear more ghoulish. The mist was
getting denser. Soon he could see less than ten yards in front of him. He could
just make out the shadowy form of Stasiak desperately struggling against the
bodies pinning him in.

An
almighty crack sounded in the distance, several cries could be heard as if the
men had been set on fire.
The perimeter has been breached
, Althalos
thought as the trapped men fled in the direction of the sound like sheep bolting
from a pen.

The
only man that did not flee was Stasiak, who fought against the tide of men
running in the opposite direction. Althalos did not understand what was
happening but knew it was not the Gloom. He focussed his attention on Stasiak.
He was like a man possessed. He did not care whom he hurt as long as he could
reach Althalos and destroy him. The prince knew the warrior would not last
long, not when he was surrounded by such numbers, but even so his determination
was unnerving.

Althalos
braced himself for another round of combat, but need not have bothered. Out of
the cloud rode a man on horseback. His short hair and crooked nose gave him an
unpleasant look. He grabbed Stasiak by the hair and yanked his head back,
showing him something in his other hand.

At
first the warrior roared with anger, but as soon as his eyes fell upon the
glowing orb he became obedient. The man whispered something in Stasiak’s ear
and as a result Stasiak turned away from the battle and followed the other men.

The
man on the horse struggled to control the animal beneath him as it shook its
mane to and fro, obviously distressed by the fog. Still, Althalos watched as
the man searched the crowd of warriors until he found him.

“You
have impressed today, Althalos. You are not king yet, though, you are still a
child.”

Althalos
recognised the insult instantly. “Jefferson!” he gasped. The stranger’s top lip
curled into a malevolent grin.

“So
you thought,” he said and then kicked his heels into the sides of his horse and
disappeared into the mist.

For
a moment Althalos was too stunned to react. But then all the years of betrayal
came back to him. All the years the man in front of him had plotted to bring
about the downfall of Frindoth. A rage overtook him, a thirst for revenge that
needed to be sated.

Forget
Stasiak, forget Vashna even, the man that had appeared in front of him was the
reason this battle took place in the first place.
I must have vengeance
.

Before
he could give the command for the soldiers to pursue, however, a hand fell upon
his shoulder. He turned, surprised to see Unger. The warlord looked terrible.
His face was a bloody mess and charred with smoke. His right arm sported a
nasty looking lesion that would need tending to.

“Leave
it for today, son,” he said.

“But
they are getting away,” Althalos protested. He could not stand the thought of
the traitors escaping.

“Let
them. You have been victorious in a battle few saw us surviving. I am honoured
that I will one day call you my king,” he said.

The
words shocked Althalos. All of a sudden he forgot about Vashna and the
mysterious man that had deceived them for so long. Before he could respond,
Unger hefted his sword in the air.

“Prince
Althalos, long may he reign when his time comes,” he shouted. The men around
responded, shouting Althalos’s name over and over. Each time it was said, more
men joined in until it became a chant. “Al-tha-los, Al-tha-los, Al-tha-los.”

The
noise seemed to drive the mist away as the sun penetrated the clouds onto the
plain where they stood. In years to come, many would say this was a clear sign
of the God’s approval. Althalos, however, did not pay any attention to the
strange occurrence. He surveyed the fallen bodies of comrades and foes alike.
So many men had died today. Although the enemy’s numbers made up the vast
majority of the dead, he could not help but feel a pang of sorrow for the
reckless loss of life.

The
chanting gradually ceased and then Unger surprised him further by doing
something Althalos thought he would never see. He bent down to one knee and
bowed his head. The soldiers followed suit, until it seemed half soldiers in
the basin were knelt before him. Hamsun was the last to kneel, he grinned at
him before lowering himself. It was a grin of immense joy and admiration.

Althalos
looked at the hundreds of men kneeling before him as tears welled in his eyes.
All sign of the fleeing enemy had vanished.

Marybeth
sighed. The events over the last week had finally taken their toll on Janna.
She led the devastated girl through the Elmwoods. The poor girl was a shell of
her former self. Marybeth felt as though she was leading a mule along a
difficult path. If she covered Janna in saddlebags, she doubted the girl would
have even noticed. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact the girl was walking by
herself, Marybeth could have sworn Janna had actually died of guilt.

Janna
had become unresponsive as soon as they had left Fankopar Forest and had escaped
the bandits. It was as if her survival instincts had shut down now that she was
safe and they had been the only thing keeping her going.

Janna’s
laconic state suited Marybeth just fine. The witch still wrestled with the
notion of stealing the stone and ditching the young girl.

The
terrain began to rise steeply. They were now approaching the base of the
mountain. Everything looked so different from the night she met up with the
Order. The branches overhead swayed sluggishly in the wind. The world seemed to
slow down as if it watched their progress up the mountain.
Rora’s breath.
She
shuddered and continued to guide Janna.

As
she led her up the side of the mountain, the young girl began to murmur. Beads
of sweat formed on her brow, but those were the only signs of life. Her eyes
were vacant, staring but not seeing at the same time.

The
higher they climbed, the more audible Janna became. Her voice sounded like a
drone of bees protecting their honeycomb.

“What
are you saying?” Marybeth said, turning and grabbing the girl by the scruff of
her neck.           

“Huminner,
Huminner, Huminner,” Janna replied. Janna stared into the distance, oblivious
to Marybeth.

“Useless
girl,” Marybeth muttered. “I should throw you off the side and be done with
you.”

She
had no intention of carrying out her threat. She felt sorry for the girl. She
had caused this and, more importantly, Marybeth knew what it was like to lose a
father.

She
was surprised at the casual indifference she felt towards Rhact’s death. She
had liked the man. She had liked him a lot. He was the first man in years that
had evoked such an emotion from her. Then why was she not more upset by his
death?
Maybe he didn’t die,
she reasoned, but she knew deep down that he
had. No one could have fought against that number of men and lived. She shook
her head. She must focus on the task on hand, that is all that is important
right now.

It
took them just over another hour to reach the plateau. The table looked as she
remembered it, apart from two exceptions: The first surprised her. The map of
Frindoth on the surface of the table no longer displayed the water, marking the
rivers and seas. She was disappointed in this. To make sure, she pressed a
finger to the tabletop and frowned when it was bone dry.

The
second difference was the biggest change of all and one she did not notice
straight away. She smiled as her gaze fell upon the three holes at the top
right hand corner of the map that depicted the Calipion Range she now stood on.

Above
each one was a picture of the moons of Frindoth, each coloured to represent a
specific moon. Unconsciously, her hand moved to the two stones in her pocket.
She rolled them over and over in her fingers, convinced now she was doing the
right thing.

Her
mouth suddenly felt very dry. This was it, a thousand thoughts rushed through
her mind: Her father and Iskandar arguing, the message on the scroll, the trail
of smoke that spiralled up from Lilyon. She began to feel dizzy. She placed her
spare hand on the giant table to steady herself.

Her
vision became blurred; where she knew there to be three holes, now six appeared
in front of her. She removed a stone from her pocket, the red one. It appeared
to be a lot heavier than she remembered. She swayed as she held it up so she
could look at it and the hole it was meant to go in. The image swam in front of
her. The symbol of the red moon became a blur. The hole appeared to shrink in
size.

Marybeth
could hear Janna mumbling a chant rhythmically behind her.

“Huminner,
Huminner, Huminner.”

Marybeth
held on to the stone with both hands and moved toward the hole. She squinted in
an attempt to focus, her tongue pressed into the inside of her cheek in
concentration.
What is happening to me?

“Huminner,
Huminner, Huminner.”

At
first as she pressed the stone down on the table, it only found solid marble.
With effort, she slid the red rock towards the hole. The stone seemed to resist,
pushing back against her. Sweat poured down her cheeks now. She cried out in
frustration as the effort took its toll.

“Huminner,
Huminner, Huminner.”

With
a final push, the stone slotted into the hole. For a brief moment, she felt
respite as if someone had just relieved her from carrying a heavy load. The
table was instantly bathed in a reddish glow, as the red moon appeared from
amongst the clouds.

Marybeth
allowed herself a few minutes rest before reaching for the blue stone. It felt
twice as heavy as the red stone. As soon as her fingers grasped around its
smooth surface, a wave of nausea washed over her. Janna’s chanting became much
louder and more frantic.

“HUMINNER,
HUMINNER, HUMINNER.”

Marybeth
struggled to remove the stone from her pocket. When she did, it fell onto the
tabletop like a lead weight. She tried to push it across the surface like the
others but could not. No matter how much she struggled, she could only move it
an inch or so at a time.

“HUMINNER,
HUMINNER, HUMINNER.”

“Oh,
shut up, you deranged cow.”

In
the end, she resorted to standing on the table and pulling the stone along with
all her weight. She managed a smile as she thought how Iskandar would react if
he could see her feet on the holy table—utter sacrilege.

As
the stone got closer to the hole, a searing pain attacked her head. She
screamed out in agony, white spots danced in front of her eyes. Pain tore
through her arms and legs as her muscles protested under the strain.

Finally,
the stone fell into the hole. Marybeth rolled off the table and collapsed on
the floor where she was violently sick. She lay there a few moments getting her
breath back. The blue moon emerged in the sky, bathing them both in a purplish
glow.

“Two
down, one to go. At least I know why I had to bring you along,” she said,
looking up at Janna.

For
the first time since they began ascending the mountain, Janna showed signs that
she had heard her. She looked down at Marybeth whilst chanting.

An
almighty roar caused her to jump to her feet. The sound echoed around the
mountains and sent a shiver down Marybeth’s spine. Birds took flight from roosting
in the trees. The mountain shook, sending clumps of snow all around them.

“The
Gloom,” Marybeth whispered.

With
a rush of urgency, she went to Janna’s side and fumbled in her pockets for the
stone.

“Help
me!” she shouted in Janna’s face.

Janna
moved as if in a trance. Still chanting, her hands moved slowly towards the
inside of her cloak. She lifted the stone out in one fluid motion, but it was
clear the stone weighed as heavy as the other two. Janna’s chanting became
strained, her breathing more shallow.

The
sleeves on Janna’s blouse tightened and ripped at the seams around the girl’s
arms. The girl’s biceps were bulging to a size that defied all comprehension.
In between chanting, she vomited, spittles of blood amongst the clear liquid. A
horrible ripping sound filled Marybeth’s ears, as the young girl’s skin began
to split under the strain of her muscles.

Marybeth
quickly moved to share the load. As soon as her hands touched the stone, the
familiar bout of nausea overtook her. The pain returned to her skull, pounding
away as if imprisoned against its will.

Between
the two of them, they managed to hoist the green stone onto the table. Afraid
that if she stopped to rest, she would not have the energy ever to continue,
Marybeth pulled herself up onto the table. Janna continued to chant but her
voice was weak now and came out in breathless rasps.

“Huminnerrrrrrr,
Huminnnnnnner, Hummmminnnnerrr.”

Another
anguished bellow consumed the mountain range. More snow and rocks fell,
bouncing off the surface of the table. The last hole danced behind Marybeth,
less than a foot away. She pulled with every fibre of energy she possessed, her
body screaming in protest. In front of her, Janna’s eyes looked as if they were
about to pop from their sockets as she pushed the stone towards the hole.

Finally,
the last stone fell into place just as a familiar voice screamed at her to
stop. She looked up to see Iskandar standing at the edge of the plateau with a
host of knights, a satisfying look of dismay on his face.

*
* *

It
took Cody Ramsay a split second to take in the scene before him. The strikingly
beautiful blond woman drenched in sweat and crouched on the table, her face
beetroot from exertion. She wore a tight brown top that left little to the
imagination, spreading pools of sweat seeped from under her arms. Even in her
distressed state she looked stunning.

By
contrast, the young girl that stood before her looked a mess. Her eyes fixated
on some focal point on the horizon, her face plain and pale. Patches of blood stained
her ripped sleeves invading the white material.

Cody
heard the dismay in Iskandar’s voice as he shouted out. It was not quite dark
yet, but Cody was aware of the light from the moonbeams overhead. They shone
directly on to the three stones inserted in the table’s surface, making them
glow radiantly.

Cody’s
attention was drawn to the thing that climbed down the mountain. The panther
like creature scaled down the cliff at frightening speed, defying gravity. Its
dark grey skin camouflaged the beast against the rock. Three horns protruded
from its head, two smaller ones on either side emerging from behind small ears
and the third the size of a short sword set upon an elongated snout. The
creature jumped the last twenty feet and landed elegantly on the plateau where
it snarled at the humans, revealing teeth as sharp as daggers.

It
was then Cody saw the eyes. Two burning red obelisks stared back at him. Two
eyes he knew instantly. The creature hissed and as it did so a forked purple
tongue flicked out of its mouth.
The Gloom!
Cody realised with a growing
sense of panic.

Beside
him, King Jacquard drew his sword along with the other knights. Cody did the
same, licking his lips trying to add some moisture to them.

“You
broke the agreement,” the words echoed in Cody’s head but no one had spoken out
loud. He immediately felt sordid from hearing them, as if his mind had been
contaminated with a poisonous substance. He felt a sense of guilt that was
completely illogical.

“I
had no idea. It is a mistake, please forgive us,” Iskandar said with
apprehension. The rest of the men looked at each other nervously. It was clear
they knew no more than Cody about what was transpiring.

“No
forgiveness. You’ve made me mortal. You have made me flesh and bone. You will
pay for your sins.”

Tears
rolled down Cody’s face. He could not explain where they came from or why he
felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness. He was vaguely aware of King Jacquard
trying to organise them into an attack formation, but his orders were made
through choked sobs.

The
Gloom had no intention of letting them prepare themselves and pounced. He
landed on one of the twins, Owent it looked like, goring the poor man’s chin
with its tusk and ripping his throat out. Owent was dead before he could even
think about raising his sword. His brother Orton hacked at the Gloom’s neck
with a cry of anger and despair. Declan assisted him by aiming his axe at the
creature’s legs. The Gloom barely registered the attacks, lashing out with one
huge paw and sending the young brother and Declan hurtling over the side of the
cliff.

In a
matter of seconds their party of twelve had been reduced to nine. Cody edged to
the side of the Gloom. Between him and the knights, they now had the Gloom
surrounded. Iskandar and Mondorlous appeared to have no interest in the fight.
Cowards.
When I am through with this bitch, I will make you pay,
he thought
bitterly.

There
was a brief period when the two enemies sized each other up. The Gloom turned
to face each of them in turn. It reeked. As one they rushed the beast,
coordinating their strikes so they each slashed and then withdrew to safety.
The Gloom bellowed in rage, snapping its jaws and lashing out. Each time Cody
thrust at the Gloom’s body his arm jarred; it was like striking granite.

He
opened up a small wound on the creature’s legs, but it did not appear to slow
the Gloom down. Instead it whirled around and swung at him. Cody barely managed
to dodge the fatal blow.

“The
neck, go for the neck,” he heard Iskandar shout.