Set in Stone (5 page)

Alasdair was a beehive of activity as everyone worked to prepare for the Sogail, decorate the square, and clean every house. There were even a handful of children, led by Connor's brother Blair, washing down the granite streets. It seemed a silly chore, but it kept the Teagair-Linn, those children not yet twelve, occupied and out of the way.

People filled the square and bustled through the shops and businesses that commanded the center of town. They worked at the hundreds of tasks required to prepare for the celebration, including the hanging of banners with the red hammer and white stone of Lord Gavin's crest from every shop. The most successful merchants displayed carefully crafted small statues made of precious granite, draped in clover. Each had been a gift from the local lord to the town during Sogail celebrations dating back to the first decade of the town's existence. Each was a prized town possession, carefully guarded and brought out only during the Sogail.

Lord Gavin had never gifted one, although he'd hinted throughout the last year that if they met the increased quotas he might. Connor was as excited as anyone by the thought, but he didn't really expect Lord Gavin to do it. Not after the fiasco last year.

Hamish and the other workers, sweating in the noonday heat, labored to erect Lord Gavin's pavilion and assemble the long, heavy tables for the feasting. On the far side of the square a raised platform for musicians was already in place, and rope marked off areas for competitions.

The energy of the place washed away Connor's fatigue. To his right, a crowd of women bustled around tables where foodstuffs were already being prepared. Holding a place of honor in the center of the cooking area was the marvelous new Heatstone oven that had just arrived the day before on the upriver barge.

Connor's mother oversaw activity there with a contented smile on her round face. Connor grinned to see her so relaxed and obviously happy.

She caught sight of him and came to greet him. "Connor, you're back early. Are you sick?"

Connor sighed.

After tomorrow she'd have to come up with a new greeting.

"I'm fine." Lofting the horn, he added loudly for all to hear, "I killed a huge torc on the north slope."

An excited murmur ran through the crowd and spread across the square. People gathered around, talking over each other in their excitement, asking him about the torc and marveling over the thick horn.

Connor grinned under the onslaught of attention and happily related the story of the hunt. It was trickier than he'd thought to keep out references to the Curse, but he had lots of practice.

Lilias singled out a couple of workmen in the crowd and ordered them to get a horse from Lord Gavin and fetch the torc for Connor. They were so excited about the kill they didn't complain about the assignment, and Connor was happy to let them drag the monster back. It'd probably take all afternoon.

"Connor! You actually killed a torc?"

Hamish pushed his way through the crowd and spit out a small rock he'd been sucking on. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it. The monster broke my bow and my lucky arrow before I finished him off."

"Wow." Hamish looked dutifully impressed. "So how'd you kill him, with that thick skull of yours?"

"Very funny."

Stuart, the other boy in town who shared the same age-day with them, pushed through the crowd, frowning. As tall as Hamish, Stuart was built like a boulder. He already had a man's depth to his chest and his arms were thicker than Connor's and Hamish's combined. His dense, black hair was cropped close to his square head.

Jean followed, and Connor's heart skipped a beat and then raced to catch up. She stood almost as tall as Connor and had grown up with the boys, all inseparable friends.

A couple of years ago, she'd started to change. She'd developed a fascinatingly curved figure. When Connor looked at her, sometimes he found it hard to breathe. Her blond hair hung in an intricate braid stretching halfway down her back. Her eyes shone as clear and blue as the quarry lochs above town. Sometimes he struggled to figure out what to say to her, which annoyed him to no end.

Stuart stepped in front of Connor, blocking his view. The brawny youth lifted a long, stone chisel that he carried proudly. "Got my chisel today."

Connor swallowed a curse and smiled, trying to look pleased.

What terrible timing. Why couldn't Stuart get the blasted chisel tomorrow when he was supposed to?

It might not quite equal the feat of killing a torc, but getting their first diorite chisel was a major milestone in any Cutter's life.

"Congratulations," he managed. Stuart beamed.

Jean slipped around Stuart, placed one hand on his arm, and with the other slid a finger down the inner edge of the torc horn. "Is this really from the torc?"

Connor grinned. Her touch set his skin on fire right through his hunting leathers. "Aye."

"Baby one, huh?" Stuart asked.

"Not hardly. Must've weighed a hundred stone." He hefted the horn to emphasize the point. Even Stuart couldn't be that dumb.

Stuart laughed. "What'd you do, throw up on it?"

"You wish." He'd been teased about his sickness all his life. It no longer bothered him, although recently he'd started dreaming of using his Curse to put Stuart in his place, just once.

He buried the dangerous thought. He didn't want to kill Stuart, and after what he'd done today he doubted he could release the Curse without fatal consequences. Besides, after tomorrow, everyone would know. Stuart would have to show him some respect when he became a Guardian.

"So, are you ready for the Sogail Oran tomorrow?" he asked Jean.

She looked at her toes and blushed, then glanced up through her long lashes at him. His heart melted.

"I think so."

"You'll be great. You've got the best voice in town."

She beamed and lifted her chin happily. "For that, you get the first dance."

Really? For that? What about for killing the torc?

Stuart frowned and hefted his diorite chisel. "I thought I got the first one."

Jean rose up on her toes to kiss Stuart's cheek and said, "You get the second. It's always longer." Stuart smiled triumphantly at Connor.

Connor squashed the flutter of hot jealousy that burned in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Jean kissing Stuart. None of them had kissed her on the lips yet and he wasn't about to let Stuart kiss her first.

In the last year their friendship had faded behind the competition to win Jean's affection. She flirted with them all, seeming to change her affection constantly and never making it clear which of them she favored.

It was so frustrating!

"What about me?" Hamish asked.

Jean laughed, grabbed Hamish's hands, and spun him around in a circle. Several adults complained about nearly getting trampled, but that just set them both to laughing. Jean leaned in to kiss Hamish's cheek and said, "There. You've already had yours."

"Connor, you think Lord Gavin will appoint you the town cripple tomorrow?" Stuart asked.

"Eat rocks."

Despite his big plans, the question dug at a sensitive spot in his soul. At the Sogail they would celebrate the Saorsa and be recognized as near-adults. Lord Gavin would assign their vocations.

Well, he'd assign the others. Connor would claim his. Still, Stuart would clearly become a Cutter. For most of his life, Connor had wished for that too, but he could no longer pretend it was going to happen.

He knew little about Guardians. His father's brother had been taken as a newborn when the test revealed his Curse, and no one had seen him since. He'd have to be careful to conceal from the Curse Hunters how long he'd had his Curse. His parents risked being named Daor, enslaved to High Lord Dougal, if anyone ever learned they'd concealed his curse for so long.

The thought of leaving Alasdair filled Connor with powerful, mixed emotions, but usually excitement won out. In the past week he'd focused on hunting, so there would be more meat at the Sogail since before old Tam, the previous town hunter, had been killed in a pedra bloodlust three years ago.

Stuart hefted his long chisel again. "I'm a Cutter now."

"Not till tomorrow, you're not," Hamish said with a laugh. Stuart scowled at him.

"If you're lucky, you'll pay it off before your kids have kids," Connor said.

Stuart's frown deepened, but someone called for Connor to tell the tale of the torc again, so Stuart left with a final glare.

Jean leaned close to Connor and whispered in his ear, "Find me later at Granny's. I want to hear all about the torc." She gave him a dazzling smile that turned his knees to water, waved to Hamish, and slipped away through the crowd.

Connor watched her go, a smile on his lips and a song in his heart. If he could pry her away from her all-too watchful grandmother, he knew exactly what quiet spot they'd sneak off to. Alone and undisturbed, he'd tell her all about the desperate fight with the torc. She'd be so impressed. The Sogail was tomorrow, but who knew?

With such a great story, maybe she'd finally admit she liked him more.

Chapter 4

Connor eventually escaped the crowd and returned home to change out of his sweaty hunting leathers. Afternoons on the valley floor were hot, so he donned a pair of tan linen trousers and a white cotton shirt. Then he headed out through the wall gate on the western side of town, even though there had never actually been a gate to block the opening. Outside the wall, he took the road toward Loch Wick and the Powder House to see his father, the Ashlar.

Two long, stone piers jutted into the cold waters of the small loch where men busy loaded a heavy-beamed river barge with large sacks of granite powder. Situated next to the loch, near where the Upper Wick finished its wild tumble down the western flanks of the mountain, sat the Powder House. It was a heavy-beamed wooden building with a high, peaked roof and double doors that opened wide enough to drive a wagon through.

To the right of the Powder House, men worked in the blocking yard, a solid mixed-grade granite pad right at the base of the cliff where large blocks of granite were lowered from the quarry high above. As Connor approached, the reinforced lift platform that moved those huge blocks descended with a new load. Suspended by a rope as thick around as his waist, it made the five-hundred foot vertical journey in just under half an hour.

As soon as it touched down, men wrapped heavy ropes around the freshly quarried granite block and, using a block and tackle, hauled the two-ton stone into the center of the blocking yard. More men with chisels and hammers began pounding away at it, quartering it prior to final processing by the Ashlar, while others carefully swept up every particle of granite and ensured the area remained clean. A shipment would be leaving tonight, so all of the prepared blocks had already been moved into the Powder House for final processing.

Connor waved a greeting to the workers and headed for the Powder House. Inside, sturdy work tables flanked a wide loading area just inside the doors and filled most of the cavernous interior. The air lay thick with dust and smelled like broken stone. Low shelves ran the lengths of the far walls, although most of the tables and shelves stood empty since most of the shipment was already loaded on the barge.

Connor's father, Hendry the Ashlar, stood alone at his work table upon which rested a nearly processed granite block. Deep cracks marred its misshapen surface that had been beaten down to barely the size of Connor's head. It lay in a pile of what looked like white sand piled almost to the top of a three-inch wooden collar that ringed the edges of the special table.

Unlike the others, this table was made of polished steel, upon which sat the collar, making it look like a huge pan. A six-foot screen of fine mesh rose above that collar around the entire table.

The Ashlar, with hands driven through two leather-lined holes in the mesh, barely big enough for his arms, was beating the block to dust.

Hendry, a muscular man with thick, gray-streaked dark hair, concentrated on his heavy, double-headed stone hammer already raised for another blow. Made of diorite, like Stuart's chisel, the hammer played a critical role in the processing of granite blocks. It was Connor's family's most treasured possession, passed down through four generations after his ancestors had worked for five decades to pay its staggering cost.