The Eye of the Stone (8 page)

Radnor looked at Tessa. “Here, take him,” he called out, turning Jackson toward her and giving him a playful shove in her direction. “But only for a few minutes. Get him some honey ice, there at Mook's market stall.” He pointed to a canvas canopy strung across a side alley. “Cool him off, then bring him to the main gate where he is needed.”

Stunned, Jackson watched as Tessa hurried to his side and clutched his hand in hers.

“Yes, honey ice at Mook's, good idea,” she said, pulling him away from Radnor and Yed.

“Honey what?” Jackson said, his mind spinning with Radnor's words.
Thirteen years old and ready to marry.

“Honey ice,” Tessa said, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder at Radnor and Yed, who were still watching them go. “Here.” She guided Jackson under a low-slung canopy that smelled of wet straw and mint. “Honey ice. You'll see.”

A woman with plump, freckled cheeks rushed about in the small dark space, placing a large piece of wet cloth over a mound of straw. “Sorry, but I'm closing for—” She stopped when she saw Tessa and Jackson.

“Hello, Mook,” Tessa said.

Mook gave Tessa a quick nod but kept her eyes on Jackson. “For such guests as you two,” she said, “I'm honored to make an exception and stay open. “Would it be all right if I join you?”

Tessa looked out into the alley, then back at Mook. “Of course.”

Mook bowed. “Thank you.” She pulled the wet cloth back, then pushed a clump of straw to one side. Beneath was a large block of blue-tinged ice. She tapped it with her finger. “Mine is the finest, sir,” she said to Jackson. “I gather it myself from the fields of ever-snow high in the Barrier Mountains. And my spice bowls”—she opened a wooden box and brought out three large oval-shaped green leaves, which she carefully placed on a small table “were carried here all the way from the South Vale.”

With even strokes of a knife, Mook began to shave off thin curls of ice and place them on the leaves. “I've heard you are the one Radnor said was coming. We are blessed and honored that you'll help us. Praise Zallis.”

Jackson watched but didn't see, heard but didn't listen, his mind able to focus on only one thing: the word
marry.
Was
that
what Tessa wanted to talk to him about?

Having placed a bite-sized mound of shaved ice on each leaf, Mook opened a large crock and pulled out a wooden spoon that dripped with honey. She let the thick amber liquid fall in squiggly lines over the ice. Then, with a quick twist, she folded each leaf into the shape of a bowl. She presented one to Jackson and one to Tessa, keeping the third for herself.

“Thank you,” Tessa said. She glanced into the alley again, then leaned out from under the stall's canvas awning and surveyed the sky.

Jackson watched her. She looked anxious, he thought. Was she nervous about proposing to him? He shook his head. No, this was crazy.
Marry?
He was too young to marry. In Timber Grove, anyway.

He examined his honey ice, which was starting to melt. But this wasn't Timber Grove, in case he needed a reminder. This was Timmra. And here … well, here there were different sets of rules.

He looked over at Tessa again. She had set her honey ice down and was searching the folds of her cloak for something. She really was nice, and pretty in her own way—and yes, she liked him. But love him so much she wanted to
marry
him? The thought alone was so fantastic it made him lightheaded.

“Will this be enough in trade?” Tessa asked Mook, holding up a fine-looking white comb. “I made it just yesterday. It's one of my best pieces, from choice stag antler.”

Jackson jumped. “No! I'll get it!” How many times had he imagined being with a girl and proudly paying for a treat? Hundreds, maybe thousands! He reached into his jeans pockets, only to remember he had no money or anything else to trade. His face went red. Here he finally was with a girl who wanted to—the word kept popping up—to
marry
him, and he stood as penniless as a pauper.

“Uh … take my watch!” he blurted out.

“You will neither pay,” Mook said, waving off both Jackson and Tessa with her hand. “Who am I to charge on such a day as this, when we Timmran will rid ourselves of the troubles and once again hold our heads up high?” She raised her honey ice. “I join you in honor of our new leader, Radnor, and the Steadfast Order, which he founded!”

“In honor of Radnor and the Steadfast Order!” Jackson said, and he gobbled up his honey ice. A wonderful cold sweetness danced across his taste buds. The ice was better than any snow cone or ice cream he had ever had. “It's really good!” he exclaimed through the mouthful.

Mook swallowed the last of her honey ice and bowed again. “How nice of you to say so.” She smiled. “Now I'll show you how we Timmran tidy up after dessert.” She wadded the leaf into a small ball and popped it into her mouth.

Jackson shrugged and did the same. The leaf tasted like mint and gave the sensation that his mouth was being rinsed clean. He started to say as much, but Tessa was reaching for him.

“
Finally
, Father and Yed are gone!” she said. “Come with me, Jackson Cooper!”

“But your honey ice!” Jackson said.

The thought washed from his mind as Tessa pulled him from the tent. She looked back toward the square, then turned in the opposite direction.

“This way. We need a place to be alone.”

Around a corner they went, ducking into another of the narrow alleys that seemed to run like mazes through the village.

So this is it
, Jackson thought.
She wants to pop the question in private!
He felt himself trembling, but didn't know if it was from fear or excitement.

He reached up with his free hand and gripped the stone pendant, wanting—no, needing—the now-familiar sensations that came from it. He ran his fingers over the etched lion. No, definitely not a lion, more like … maybe a dragon? And the necklace … He couldn't remember. Had it always been that snug? He shook the questions off. Who cared? He could feel the pendant's warm, magical power flowing into him, and once again it calmed him.

Tessa stopped and checked up and down the alley. No one was in sight, save a russet-colored chicken that squawked and strutted out of their way.

“There's so much to say and so little time,” Tessa said. “Where do I begin?…”

She clutched Jackson's hand—the one branded with the sign of the Steadfast Order—and looked at the darkening clouds overhead as if searching there for the right words.

Jackson watched her, no longer afraid of what she was building up to. This was Timmra. He was a member of the Steadfast Order with his own tattoo and bow and arrows. He had been accepted by Radnor and Yed, Tessa's family. He had the power, the magic. Here he really could be somebody. Somebody important. Somebody famous. A hero, like Tessa had said. And then—just like in a fairy tale—the hero would claim his bride. He and Tessa would marry, and they would kiss. He leaned close, ready to start practicing.

“Tessa!”

Jackson jumped, jerking around so fast he almost fell down. Arnica was running toward them, a look of near panic on her face.

“It's starting to happen!” she shouted. “I couldn't find you at first, but Dedron—they
all
are coming.” She was almost breathless as she drew close. “If we're going to do it, it's got to be
now
!”

“Do what?” Jackson asked. He took a step toward Arnica, then turned back to Tessa. “Who's coming?”

But all he saw of Tessa was the hem of her dress as she disappeared into another alley between two houses. “Don't let me down, Jackson Cooper!” she called back, her voice fading with the sound of her footsteps. “You are the Instrument, our only hope.”

“Tessa!” Jackson started after her. “But I thought—” He rounded the corner. “Wait!”

The alley stood empty. She was gone.

Jackson whirled back. “Arnica, where did Tessa—”

He stopped short. Arnica was gone, too.

12. “To Arms!”

Jackson stood openmouthed in the little alley, stunned by the abrupt turn of events. “What is going on?” Everything had seemed so right only seconds before. He started once more in the direction Tessa had gone, but stopped again. The alley twisted and turned this way and that, with multiple side alleys branching off in different directions. The village was like a labyrinth. He had no idea where to look for her.

He had no idea why she had run away, either. What was it Arnica had yelled? Something about … Was it Dedron? It seemed like he'd heard the name before, but he wasn't sure.

And what had Tessa meant, don't let her down, he was their … What had she said? Their only hope? Sure, he'd gotten the idea that there were expectations of him, but still, so much remained vague in his mind. Details hadn't seemed important. All that had really mattered was how well things had been going.

But now that he thought about it, what had seemed so simple before—his picture of Timmra—was appearing more and more like a giant, complicated puzzle. And he had the distinct and disturbing feeling that all the pieces weren't even there, much less in place.

Jackson paced back and forth in the little alley, kicking up a small cloud of chalky dust. This much was becoming clear, though: Something was wrong,
really
wrong.

He'd better go find Radnor and Yed. They'd know what to do.

Full of sudden resolve, Jackson ran back past Mook's market stall and on toward the center of the village. Yes, Radnor and Yed. They'd make things right again!

But the uproar in the main square brought Jackson skidding to a halt. People were rushing in every direction. Shouts and dust filled the air. A horse whinnied and reared—eyes wide, nostrils flared. A man—as wide-eyed as the horse—cursed and jerked the reins. The horse spun, almost knocking the man down, then slammed into a market cart. It tipped over, spilling its load of corn. A little boy jumped out of the way just in time. He screamed, then cowered next to a pile of firewood, crying for his mother. A woman rushed to his side, grabbed his hand, and pulled him after her into the crowd. Confusion reigned.

Out over the chaos Radnor's voice boomed. “To arms! To arms!”

Jackson followed the sound with his eyes and saw the Chieftain of All Timmra and Commander of the Steadfast Order standing across the square by the village gate, his bow and great broadsword raised over his head. Yed stood beside him, hands cupped over his mouth. “To arms!”

“Radnor!” Jackson called. “Yed!” But there was no way they could hear him above the din. He pushed toward them, dodging around a woman herding two children before her.

“Radnor was right!” she was saying. “He said they would attack!”

Jackson stopped in alarm. “Attack? Who is attacking?”

The younger of the two children, a little girl, started to cry, big tears streaming down her face. “I'm scared, Mommy!”

“Who is attacking?” Jackson repeated.

But the woman just looked at Jackson as if he weren't there and hurried on.

His apprehension swelling with every second, Jackson spun back toward Radnor and Yed, only to bump into a man clutching a spear and an ax.

“Can you tell me what is going on?” Jackson asked. He could smell the man's sweaty fear.

“To arms!” the man shouted, his words harsh and defiant but a look of dread in his eyes at the same time. He grabbed the bow from Jackson's shoulder and thrust it into Jackson's hands, then rushed off into the crowd, calling, “To arms!”

“Radnor!” Jackson shouted. “Yed!” He could almost taste the alarm in the air now. It ran like a raw current through the agitated throng, closing in on him, too, threatening to sweep him away. He leaped up so that he could see above the crowd and get his bearings on the village gate again. There it was, and Radnor and Yed were still beneath it. Clutching his bow, he pressed on, weaving in and out, around and about, as people rushed past. Finally he forced his way through a knot of men and stood before his friends.

But Radnor's face, which only moments before had been all smiles and laughter, was now twisted in rage. “They're marching on the Council Bridge, Jackson Cooper!”

Jackson looked to Yed, hoping for a wink and a grin. This was all a big practical joke, right? Like pulling the fire alarm at school. Like the little boy in the story who cried, “Wolf!”
Tell me it is. Please tell me.

“Treason!” Yed hissed. “We're stalked by it!”

Jackson stepped back. “Treason?
Who?
”

“The Yakonan, of course!” Radnor spit the name out like rancid meat. “Yakos! The earth shook because of them. The river level is falling. And now they attack, thinking we're helpless! But we're ready! We'll take back what is rightfully ours and then drive them from Timmra forever! It's war!”

“
War?
” The word hung in Jackson's throat like a rasp. When he was younger he'd spent hours on rainy days lining up rows of plastic army soldiers in his bedroom and then shooting them down with rubber bands and spit wads. And whenever his cousin Cody from Seattle had come down to visit, he'd always brought his toy machine guns. They'd gone out into the backyard and blasted away at imaginary enemies. He'd played war on the video games on his Sega and down at the Shop and Go, too. But that had all been for fun, nothing more than good-natured play.

“To arms!” Radnor shouted again. “Victory over the Yakonan!”

“Victory!” came a chorus of voices. “Victory over the Yakonan!”

Jackson twisted around to see at least fifty men behind him, all armed with spears, daggers, swords, axes, and bows and arrows.

“In the name of our one God, Zallis, follow me!” Radnor cried. He brandished his sword and bow over his head again. “Forward, faithful soldiers of the Steadfast Order! Victory over the Yakonan!”