The Forgotten Stone, page 1
THE FORGOTTEN STONE
E.A. WINTERS
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Pronunciation Guide
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by E.A. Winters
Copyright © 2022 E.A. Winters
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Tahlia Newland
Cover design by Covers by Combs
Map drawn by Tania Gomes at MysticWingsArt
ISBN-13: 978-1-958702-00-0
DragonLeaf Press
https://www.eawinters.com
To Grandma, for your endless patience and encouragement, for our phone calls after reading the rough draft of every chapter, and for always being there.
1
Enouim had complained just that morning about how her life was going nowhere, but she would rather be serving drinks than running for her life. She swung herself over a rock fence and catapulted forward with all that she had, afraid to look behind. Never to turn. That was the precept of her people, the rallying cry on every battlefield and at every bar where the tales were told. Today, she found the adage loathsome rather than inspiring.
The grass gave way beneath her leather footwear, and the familiar smell of horses welcomed Enouim to the pasture. Idiot, she chastised herself. And of all the people to enrage, you just had to pick Chayan. Enouim ducked between the horses, vaulted the fence on the far side, rolled to the end of the plateau, and dropped five feet to the level below.
Gorgenbrilders were excellent friends and allies, and, even more, dedicated avengers. The stereotype felt wildly out of place with Enouim, but Chayan was the epitome of brute revenge. Crouching low enough to keep her head out of view, Enouim took a moment to gather her breath. Images of the young woman filled her mind, her brown hair permanently in a messy braid and tossed over broad shoulders. She had earned respect in the community as a lethal warrior, formidable hunter, and for having a shorter fuse than most. Her legs were like oak trees, her arms seemed functionally to be made of steel, and she appeared to have little time for human connection. She cared far more for blood, sweat, and—well, Enouim wasn’t sure Chayan had tear ducts, but blood and sweat anyway.
Enouim flexed her slender arms and sighed. She had a sort of wiry strength, but Chayan was rarely challenged even by experienced warriors. Gorgenbrild settled almost all scores through physical means, and Chayan never let anything go. She was nearly undefeated, and though she’d been brought to Justice Hall on three separate occasions for extreme force beyond what was due, she had been able to weasel out of it every time. This left Enouim two options: face Chayan and take her chances, or try to make it to Deliberation to state her case.
She definitely wasn’t ready to face Chayan. She had to move.
The land of Gorgenbrild was characterized by rolling green hills sprawling across largely uneven ground. Ahead of her Enouim saw stone houses, some standing alone and others built into the sides of steep hills. Enouim glanced around, searching for anything helpful, and caught an image reflected in the window of one of the houses. Her blood ran cold. Chayan, her face fixed in a grimace, flew effortlessly over the horse enclosure fence and landed without a sound. She ran low to the ground, holding her right arm—bent at an unnatural angle—close to her body.
Gorgenbrilders were known for their values of bravery, strength, honor, and minding of their own business. Debts were settled with physical retaliation, with only the most egregious injustices being taken to Deliberation. And after that morning’s debacle, Enouim technically owed Chayan at least one of her bones.
She shuddered. A single broken arm was hardly a handicap for someone as accomplished as Chayan. Facing her simply would not do, and the more Enouim thought about it, the more desperate she was to avoid it.
Enouim ran as quickly and quietly as she could, head low, along the wall up and to her right. Not thinking, she kicked a pebble, and it rolled down the slope behind her—tsk, tsk, tsk—as it hit the rocky way. The sound mocked her, echoing her thoughts as Enouim chastised herself for the mistake. Panic welled up in her chest, and she launched herself up the rise, round a bend, and off the ledge, aiming for the roof of a house the next level down. Halfway through the air, she realized—too late—that the roof of the house was more uneven than she’d thought. Panic rarely brought the best judgment or the most delicate movements, and Enouim found herself tumbling over the house and plummeting to earth on the far side.
In a stroke of luck she caught a rock partway down on the opposite side of the house and came to an abrupt halt. Enouim hung there, over a window, for a moment, taking in ragged breaths of air. With those breaths came a steadier mind.
Her feet found purchase on the window ledge, and Enouim almost laughed aloud at her relief to discover that it was open. She swung through the window into the house and dropped to the floor, finding herself in a circular entry room with a wooden table built rounded to hug the wall—the house of Bondeg Polenko. The door stood further down, and hooks for weapons hung on the far wall. Various furs and skins adorned the wall opposite her, along with the host’s second-best weaponry. The best would be kept close at hand, and if the quality of those on display was high, company could be assured that the owner could afford to show it off because even greater pieces were secure in their possession. Today, however, most of the hooks were empty. Two passages extended to her left. One led to living quarters and one to a dining area.
Bondeg, a gruff, seventy-four-year-old warrior with many achievements, was a highly respected leader in the community, so his home was larger than most. It was said that Bondeg had slung nearly thirty zegrath over his broad shoulders in his time, a record none had threatened in as many years. Most notably, Bondeg had led the charge next to Quarot of Kalka’an against the Iyangas in the Liombas-Katan Campaign. No significant endeavor was undertaken without his knowledge, and if it was important enough to garner his attention, Bondeg himself would be orchestrating it all. In fact, Bondeg was heading up an important excursion that very moment and was expected to return that same afternoon. An alarm bell rang somewhere in her mind at this, but it couldn’t compete with the overpowering mental picture of Chayan’s unpleasant face.
Bondeg was the great warrior who’d restored Gorgenbrild’s autonomy and maintained its reputation. When she was a child, she heard that Bondeg had once skewered an ill-willed intruder by throwing a lance through the very window she’d come through. The shady bloke never saw it coming. The more she thought about Bondeg’s unflinching stare, the louder that warning bell rang, but she reminded herself that it was secondary to a more pressing need. For now, she was safe and could consider her next move.
Enouim let out a heavy sigh and sunk back against the rock wall beneath the windowsill. Chayan undoubtedly heard the pebble she kicked and would be bearing down on her any moment. Come to think of it, her less-than-graceful fall over the roof was likely seen by someone. That someone might point Chayan in the right direction. As if on cue, low voices wafted in through the open window. Enouim heard the sinister swish of a blade slicing through the air as if to practice before it made good on a promise to slice through her flesh. Enouim winced.
Soft, hurried footsteps approached, and then stopped as a distraction came up the slope. Distractions were good, very good. The quick clip-clop of trotting horses and the excited clamor of men returning from a perilous venture filled Enouim’s ears like soft grass receiving weary feet. Urgent, animated voices called for further action and discussion raged over which “further action” was best. One popular fellow declared that the best thinking happened over drinks, to which a chorus of praise and laughter went up and the group began to disperse. The low, gravelly voice of an authoritative man demanded they meet him at Mangonel Mornings in no less than twenty minutes. Well, what a manure pile to be in. The voice belonged to Bondeg Polenko, and his heavy boots hit the earth with a thud of finality as he dismounted his horse right outside.
With Chayan almost certainly outside the window and Bondeg at the door, Enouim had nowhere to go. She briefly considered begging Bondeg to hear her out and keep Chayan at bay, but according to Gorgenbrilder custom Chayan had a right to her revenge. To make things worse, Chayan and Bondeg were on good terms—as good of terms as a person can be with a walking boulder. But boulder or not, Chayan had enough relatability to develop a mutual respect and even some jokes with Bondeg over excursions they’d weathered together. Chayan would likely wait until Bondeg left for the Mangonel, being wise enough to know not to interrupt a man like him in such a state. He clearly had earnest business to attend to, and jumping in with such a trivial matter would not bode well for her.
Enouim lifted herself up and craned her neck to look back through the window. Chayan stood a mere fifteen feet from the window and looked directly at her with a sneer. Enouim dropped back down and flattened herself against the wall, but something jutted uncomfortably into her back. She reached behind her and grasped what felt like a rock—not helpful—then realized that if Bondeg was particularly distracted, he might not see her if she was under the table. She twisted toward the table to crawl under it, but the wooden floor beneath her gave way and swallowed her whole.
2
About four feet down, Enouim hit a dirt floor with a jolt, and a nearly imperceptible click sounded above her. Light came in through narrow wooden slats above her head, but the tunnel into which she’d fallen reached into darkness. It appeared that the rock she’d touched was a mechanism connected to a trap door that, when rotated, released a hinge that dropped the portion of the floor on which she’d been sitting. It must have been well camouflaged with the rest of the flooring to need no rugs to conceal it.
The natural response to a self-governing policy dominated by violence was that people established strategies to give them an edge in moments of need—hidden tunnels and entrances, and go bags prepared in advance with tools and resources for survival. Any self-respecting Gorgenbrilder had at least one hidden doorway in their home, on principle even if they couldn’t afford to make them overly creative. If Enouim could reach one of her own family’s house entrances, she could be safe for a while.
Footsteps crossed the room above her, and she heard Bondeg set a shield and other pieces of weaponry back in their places on the wall. He called to Chayan to join him and the others in their discourse at Mangonel Mornings. The main hall for drinks and merrymaking, Mangonel Mornings—named after a catapult designed to destroy rock walls—was the prime location for people to share any news of interest.
Most Gorgenbrilders didn’t find drinking in moderation a realistic or understandable suggestion, and tolerance of strong drink ran thick in their blood. Anyone drinking a satisfactory amount, and any visitor experiencing Gorgenbrilder brews for the first time, was likely to wake the next morning feeling as though something had socked them. Employed there herself, Enouim had many opportunities to watch the dedication of Gorgenbrilders to their fermented drink.
Enouim didn’t wait to hear Chayan’s answer. Since the Polenko family’s tunnels, such as the one she’d stumbled upon, would lead to safety, she struck out for wherever the end might lead. On hands and knees, Enouim crawled through the three to four feet high tunnel carved from the earth and supported with intermittent wooden supports. About half an hour later, she came to the end. Taking a deep breath, she reached up and pushed on the wooden door in the ceiling.
It gave way and flipped up, and she saw branches overhead. She clambered out of the hole and took stock of her surroundings. She’d emerged at one edge of the community, among several trees. Footpaths wound through the rolling terrain, dotted with enclosures for horses, goats, and pigs, which stepped down multiple levels, like cosmic stairs. The land reached up to meet a clear blue sky, save for a dreamy wisp of pure white cloud. The scene was set against a backdrop of mountains in the distance, and sheer cliffs dropped away behind her. She was struck by the peaceful alternation between green grass and gray rock—green and gray, green and gray.
The light was soft in the descending sun, but the world would still be illuminated for several hours. Enouim drank in the familiar sights and soothing colors, allowing the peace in the view to steady her heartbeat. Her mind regaled her with the day’s events. How could she have been so stupid? And why had she built it up so much in her mind? It was an accident, after all. Surely it wouldn’t be so bad. And yet, Enouim could not stifle the shudder that rippled through her body when her mind conjured up Chayan’s contorted face and imposing musculature. Enouim was slender with lanky arms and legs. She imagined the only creature she might truly intimidate was a rabbit.
Drawing her gaze back to her immediate surroundings, she took in the few trees behind and around her and the brush beneath her feet. Nothing moved or made noise except the occasional bird, and no one was around to have noticed her sudden appearance. She might easily reach the community unhindered. Surely, the tunnel had bought her some time. A rabbit with soft, mottled brown-and-gray fur stared back at her, its large, innocent eyes unconcerned. Making fun of her. A rabbit? Honestly?
Enouim shook her head to clear it and started down the incline. Her house wasn’t far from here. Though her family home didn’t have any tunnel entrances on this end, she could probably make it without them. And if Chayan took Bondeg up on his offer to join them at Mangonel Mornings, well, all the better! She hurried into the town toward her house, a modest, stand-alone dwelling not incorporated into the landscape like some of the others. The ground was flat here, so there was no need.
Although their house style was more exposed, Enouim thought it felt friendlier, due in part to having windows allowing natural light in from both sides rather than just one. A small pen around one side held the goats and pig, and the pony shared space with several other families’ horses in a larger plot nearby. The pony, a dutiful twenty-nine-year-old mare named Pinky, stood about thirteen hands high. Her coat, though interspersed with several colors, looked pink from a distance. Though affectionate and willing to work, at her age she simply couldn’t do all that she used to.
Enouim entered the house and dashed past the kitchen down the hall to her room. She grabbed a small knife off the wooden end table next to her bed and slid it into the built-in sheath of her boot, then checked the dagger she always carried at her waist. She hardly used it, save for chores, but all Gorgenbrilders carried at least a couple of weapons. She hadn’t been in any real physical altercations before and avoided conflicts that might lead to one.
Voices drifted toward her from the kitchen—her mother, Qadra, and brother, Pleko. Pleko, five years older than her nineteen years, no longer lived at home, so he must be visiting—or, more likely, returning something he’d borrowed.
“Enouim?” her mother called. “Come in here for a minute. Where are you rushing off to?”
“Just a minute!” Enouim threw on a fresh green tunic and adjusted her wrapped belt over it. Light and loosely fitted to her body, the tunic had long sleeves with intentional holes that hooked over her thumbs. She wadded up her old tunic, still covered in dirt from her tunnel crawl, and tossed it under the bed, then she snatched a hooded mantle off her bed and tugged it on over her tunic as she headed to the kitchen. Her mind spun in circles. Should she tell her family what had happened? She rarely kept anything from her family. But she didn’t usually do such stupid things.
