The soothsayer, p.21
The Soothsayer, page 21
Sticks should be angled like a teepee. Have to get air to the bottom. But his hands ached with the chill, forcing him to stop and breathe into his cupped palms. He finally steadied the kindling onto each other and paused to study his handiwork. It’s unsteady, but it should hold . . .
A strong wind blew in above the upper branches, sending his kindling flying across the forest floor.
“Damnit!” Colin exploded and kicked the stone outcropping with his foot. “Ouch!” He knelt and fingered his stubbed toe within his sneaker. The cold crept to his core.
Heat. Need heat. Screw the pyre. Just a stick. Just one little spark.
He got up and searched for any piece of wood that might hold a flame longer than a second or two. Colin’s neck tingled as if some presence was nearby, watching him. He turned to see the shadows behind him, but no trace of a living thing stirred.
He finally found a large chunk of bark and returned to the outcropping. He backed up against the massive rock and knelt beside it.
“Okay, I rub some sticks together and I’m good.” He knew it wasn’t that easy. But he grabbed a nearby twig and rubbed it furiously against the bark.
The twig snapped. Colin clenched his fists again and shook the sting from his fingers.
“Okay, something harder, something . . .”
Again, Colin felt eyes studying his moves. He spun around. “Hello?”
Only silence answered. He clenched his fists and slowly turned back. He remembered the stone. The stone he’d found inside Mr. Potter’s box that he still carried in his jeans. Since his time in the dungeon, he’d forgotten all about it. He searched his pant legs and felt it still in his pocket. He pulled it out with the crumpled photo of him and his father camping. His body shivered as he peered at the picture.
“Slow and steady wins the race, son,” his father had said and smiled as Colin had worked to start their cooking fire that day. “It doesn’t always come easy, but if you keeping trying it will eventually come.”
His mother had been there and had nodded as she looked on.
“Why’s it gotta be so hard? Can’t we just get a burger or something?” Colin had whined as he struggled to get a spark. “I suck at this. I’m just gonna fail.”
He remembered how his father had knelt and tousled his hair.
“I guess that’s why persistence is failing nineteen times and getting it to work the twentieth, buddy. So, if you’re going through hell . . .” He paused as he looked at Colin’s mom.
“Keep going,” she said and winked at him.
Another shiver rippled across Colin’s body, bringing him back to the present. The thought of his mother returned to him. Was she still comatose in a hospital bed, alone? What hell was she facing? What dark corner between life and death was she trapped in? I don’t have time to freeze to death.
He took a breath and steadied his hand as he gripped the stone. He ran it up, and down the bark, and for a second, he saw a trace of smoke.
The rock broke through the rotten piece of timber. Colin balled the photo in his fist. He wanted to scream. It was just another lie, just another way to fail.
“You’re doing it wrong,” a deep gravelly voice said from behind him.
Colin spun around, but no one was there. He looked to the shadows but saw nothing. He pulled himself up to the top of the outcropping and peered into the forest’s darkness.
“Come out! Whoever you are!” he yelled.
“Would you mind not standing on my head?” the voice grunted. Colin felt the stone shift underneath his feet, and he fell backward off the rock and onto the ground. There before him was the most enormous face he’d ever seen.
chapter 42
An Unhappy Reunion
KING BRAEDEN STOOD ON THE rooftop of a shop near the bazaar gate to see. The fires from the Ambassador’s Square still raged. The light rain did nothing to quench the flames. Below the shop, Braeden watched as his meager retinue of guards and volunteers piled barrels, carts, and timber into the archway. The barricade would do little against the horde slowly making its way to them. Braeden looked to the sky. “Maker, help us,” he whispered.
A low grunt caught the king’s attention. He turned to see Rustag standing behind him. The towering man was not unknown to him. Braeden had wanted the Agronian to serve in the guard years ago, but Mariselle hadn’t liked his demeanor and insisted he be kept as a jailor for the lower dungeons.
“Thank you for your service, Rustag. Without you, I fear more people would have perished tonight. I wish I could give you a proper reward, but I doubt I will have anything to offer come morning, if this night ever ends.”
“Morning will come, my king. I’ll fight to the death to ensure you see it,” Rustag replied.
Braeden shook his head as he looked past the archway and down the curving cobblestone street leading to the square. The Amorite battalions would be forming. He could hear their rallying cries.
“They’ll be here soon. If only I could stop up this archway . . .” Braeden said.
“Perhaps this man can help then. He seems intent on talking to you,” Rustag grunted and motioned at the stairway behind him.
Absalom stepped forward.
Braeden gazed into his son’s eyes for a moment. The boy had become a man.
“Rustag, you can leave us. I’ll be quite alright,” Braeden said.
Rustag glanced at Absalom and nodded to the king before trudging back down the steps.
“You’re trusting . . . Father,” Absalom said.
“If you wanted to kill me, I imagine you would’ve done so by now.” Braeden folded his arms.
“I found this,” Absalom said, tossing the patriarch his journal. “So you knew?”
Braeden looked down at his journal and thumbed a few pages. “Of course I knew, Absalom. I’ve watched you since you were a baby.”
Absalom nodded and bit his lip. He moved to the wall and stared at the flames burning the western quarter.
“And . . . nothing? You wouldn’t acknowledge me? Send some succor for my mother? I wasn’t worth it?”
Braeden turned and stood beside him, following his gaze across the city. “No, son . . . I never felt that way. It’s true I never loved your mother. It was a single night’s tryst. But you . . .” He reached out to Absalom, but the privateer instantly backed away. Braeden continued, “Months later I caught her eye in the marketplace. She was selling fruit and heavy with child. I knew. I had my men leave food for her while she carried you. The night you were born, I was there. Your mother gave birth to you in the castle. My own personal surgeon delivered you. As a young man, I sailed to the western isles, conquered the northern lands, and saw countless battles, and I was stalwart throughout. But when I first saw you, I was afraid. And ashamed.”
Absalom turned to his father. “Ashamed? Then I’m glad I ransacked your palace. Consider it payment past due.”
“No, Absalom, I was ashamed of myself. I was afraid of what others might have said. And as you grew and Alex was born, the truth became harder to tell. I wish I’d had the courage then. Leaving you was a mistake.” Braeden finally faced his son. “There are no words to express how sorry I am.”
“You are sorry. But the deed is done.” Absalom replied and turned away for a moment, lost in thought. “Perhaps in time we’ll speak on it again, but for now I’d ask you to keep your spies tethered and stay out of my life. I was planning to leave the city until your friends came knocking.” He looked back to the narrow market road leading to the distant fiery blazes.
Braeden nodded. There were more pressing matters. “My worst fears are realized tonight. Gilead is doomed.”
Absalom’s eyes flashed angrily before he cleared his throat and finally spoke. “In my time scurrying the streets, I learned how to pick many a lock. I wonder if you’re aware of the lamplighter stations.”
Braeden glanced at Absalom. “Of course. We keep wicks, oil, and sundries in them; hardly a defense.”
“Those sundries include a peculiar black powder, and when mixed with the whale oil you import, it makes a rather nice bang.”
Braeden’s eyebrow raised. “What are you saying?”
Absalom smiled cruelly. “I’m saying if Gilead is going to die, let her go out with such a blast that we take them with us.” He pointed up and down the market street and the homes and shops lining it. “They’d make wonderful tinderboxes, don’t you think? Ready to burst on the Amorite’s ranks as they pass.”
Braeden shook his head. “People’s homes . . . some of them may still be in hiding.”
“And they will be burned alive regardless!” Absalom laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry I have no grand scheme that clears you from all guilt, but if you truly care for your people, you’ll do what’s required, no matter the cost.”
Absalom’s words stung like a slap in the face.
“I see.” The king mused for a moment. Egan and his men had hopefully evacuated any remaining people from their homes, but there was no way to be sure and no time to check. Any that remained would die in the flames in an instant or die at the hand of the Amorites, slowly. There were no good options left. “And what men would you have me send to risk their lives in this venture?”
Absalom looked out across the city. “She’s more a mother to me than the woman you bedded. I know every street, every back alley, every crack in her cobblestone.”
“Fine. Take Rustag with you. Gather the supplies as quickly as possible. Set the charges.”
Absalom turned and hurried down the steps past a soldier standing sentinel—a soldier who stood uneasily in a chest plate and helmet much too large, who’d heard every word of their conversation and wondered if her father’s son was as forgiving as he seemed.
chapter 43
The Waking of the Mountain
COLIN STARED INTO THE GIANT stone face. What had first appeared to be simple crevices in the huge rock now gazed at him; slight outcroppings above the holes moved up slightly like eyebrows, and a long curved crack below it opened to a dark cavernous mouth that echoed when it spoke.
“If you insist on building a fire, you’ll need the right rock for the task.”
The ground shook slightly beneath Colin, and a chunk of black obsidian-like rock tumbled down the stone face and rolled next to Colin’s foot. Shock set itself into Colin’s face like rust on metal.
“Please . . . please don’t kill me.” Colin gulped and crawled back up against a tree.
The face furrowed its stone brow and peered at him. “Should I kill you? I had not thought of that . . . but perhaps . . .”
Colin shook his head frantically. “Please no, no.”
The face softened. “No, crushing you serves no purpose. You’re already such a tiny pebble.”
“What are you?” Colin asked and wondered if he could get to his feet quick enough to run.
“I am . . .” the face said. “I am as old as the mountains. Indeed, in the first dawn, I was a great mountain, but time has worn me down . . . time and wind and water.”
“What magic controls you? Do you serve Mariselle? The Amorites? Dagon? What do they call you?” Colin asked as he pulled himself up.
“Many questions for such a small pebble. I serve no one, save the Maker. What am I called?” The face looked down as if deep in thought. “I had a name, but I’ve forgotten it. It was a good name, I think . . . but I’ve been asleep for so long.”
“Are you real?” Colin shook his head as he stepped closer to the face.
“As real as rock. Yes. But you’ve posed a good question . . . my name . . . hmmm.”
Colin looked around the woods. “Do you know where we are? You see, I’m lost and . . .” Colin’s hands started to shake again with cold.
The face looked up at him. “Yes, I do see. You’re here.”
“No, I mean where is here?” Colin asked as he rubbed his hands together, his teeth chattering.
The stone face raised an eyebrow as if trying to comprehend. “Here is here, and there, and there.” His eyes gazed out across the expanse of the wood. “It’s all the same to me. I’m everywhere, you know. Every rock is part of me. Every stone forms my being.” The face stared at Colin and frowned as he shivered. “I can stand the rain and water, but you, little pebble, are made of flesh. Make your fire.”
Colin knelt beside the wood he’d dropped and picked up the flint the great rock had given him, careful not to turn his back to the behemoth.
“Use the stone you have with the one I gave you. Two stones can make a spark when they’re the right ones.”
Colin knocked his stone against the dark flint. A spark caught hold of the timber. He quickly blew on it and added nearby pine needles until the smoke became a slightly warming blaze. He sighed as he sat beside it and gazed at the face across from him. “Thank you. So, you’re . . . you’re everywhere? You’re in the mountains in the distance and here?” Colin asked.
“My mind wanders when I’m not sleeping. Sometimes I am the bedrock of a mountain peak, sometimes I am in the watery deep, but most times I am here. This place holds my memory . . . This is where I began.”
Colin looked around. The dark, leafless wood seemed an unlikely nursery. “You began here? How?”
“How else? I was formed from the dust—like you, like everything. This was the Maker’s garden once. All life was chipped from this place. But the green left long ago, and all that’s left are dead trees and silent stones.”
“Dead trees? The Dead Wood? Is that what this place is called?” Colin asked.
“It’s a new name for this place, but yes. Long ago it was called Erewhon.”
Colin’s mind raced as he thought out loud. “Samuel told me about this . . . The vision showed me this place . . . Tell me, is there a tree nearby, a great burnt tree, a tree that a man once . . . died on?”
The face became sullen. “Who are you again? I was so caught up trying to remember my name, I never asked for yours.”
Clearly, the creature knew of the tree if Colin could only convince it to tell him. He tried to speak his name, but the words were silent again. Finally, he sighed. “I . . . I can’t speak it for some reason. Maybe there’s a curse on me, but I can’t seem to say it. It’s almost like I’ve forgotten it too.”
“A name is a powerful thing, little pebble, and to call one’s true name can render even a stone heart to dust. The Maker named us all, and by our names, we are defined. To forget your name is either very good . . . or very bad. I’m not sure which. But at least I am not alone in forgetting mine.”
“I guess . . . well, in my vision a man called me a ‘beast tamer.’ I survived in the mouth of . . . well, whatever that thing was before it dropped me here,” Colin said.
“Then Beast Tamer you shall be called, but I doubt that’s the sum of it. I’ve not spoken to a human in eons, so I will call you . . . Beast Tamer, Stone Speaker . . . until it gets longer, as most names do over time.”
“Your name must be huge then, whatever it is.”
“My name was longer than the great Sanhedrin mountain range, more mixed than the shifting sands of Arabah, and deeper than the abyss at the edge of the world. I think . . . it held great power.” The stone face frowned.
“What can I call you then?” Colin asked. “Like a nickname? Or do you like ‘Big Rock Face’?”
“A nickname?” The face frowned. “This word is new to me.”
Colin sighed. “Like a temporary name, a short name, you know?”
“Hmmmmm,” the great stone rumbled in thought for a moment. “‘Crag’ . . . I think that was part of my name. Yes, ‘Crag’ will do . . . though it’s woefully inadequate.”
“Right, okay, Crag. Look, do you know about that tree? If this is the Dead Wood, then it’s here and I have to find it. Samuel called it the Gilead tree. Ring any bells?”
“I have no bells to ring, little pebble. But I do understand. It’s not a place you should visit. The ground there has long been cursed. Nothing will grow near it. Not since those people killed the Maker’s man on the tree. However, a nice quarry is not far from here. Sometimes it fills with water. I find it quite peaceful. You should go there.”
Colin shook his head. “Crag . . . I need to find the balm of Gilead. The only reason I came into this world was to find it. The tree is the only hope I have of saving my mother.”
Crag’s rocky brows raised. “You came from another world to save one you love?”
Colin nodded.
“You were called then? By the Horn of Joshua?”
Colin shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Mmmm . . . little pebble, you should have said this earlier.”
“Why would it matter?” Colin asked him.
“The horn is one of The Ten. It only calls those who will have a serious impact on our world, but to what end is a mystery . . . even to one as old as I. The Maker told me of these things long ago. I never thought it concerned me until today. I will shift the wood for you. The path will lead you to the tree.”
“Okay, thanks, I guess.” Colin stood and watched as the ground slowly shifted before him, parting the wall of trees to his right and closing the gap of trees to his left. Colin turned to Crag. The face seemed almost entirely rock-like again.
“Crag . . . what do you mean, ‘The Ten’? Are there more of those weird conches out there? Are they dangerous?”
“Little pebble, that is a story for another time, and I grow tired. Take the flint and your own stone . . . roll down the slope I’ve given you. It’s clear you’re not meant to gather moss here.”
“But Crag . . . I need to know, am I in danger?” Colin asked again.
“You’ve always been in danger, but how you choose to roll through it will either shape you or break you. Farewell.”
