The Forgotten Stone, page 24
The wretched creature hovered over all its prey with relish, snapping its jaws. From the tree above, Mereámé threw a knife at the shadow. Canukke, Oloren, and Vadik attacked from behind it, while Kilith, Baird, Gabor, and Enouim attacked from the front and sides. Ruakh raised his staff. Hope was fading fast, their strength sapped.
Mereámé dropped to the ground and took hold of a fallen sword, forging ahead with questionable form and indisputable courage. Yadara also slid to earth, shaking off Kilith’s cloak and raising her wrist toward the creature. Afternoon light emanated from her, filling the wood and shining in stark contrast against the dark figure and the receding blackness of her surroundings. From her wrist the molten silver ensign seemed to boil, moving, and glowing with a soft light. The creature recoiled, snarling and thrashing, eyes of furious fire meeting the soft and determined eyes of Yadara, one blue and one light gray. Gathering itself, the shadow abandoned the mission members and bore down on Yadara, snatching Ruakh’s staff as it did so and flinging it aside.
Mereámé drove between the demon and Yadara. Her blade sunk into the shadow’s side before it lifted her high above its head and slung her with all its terrible might into a tall tree. With a horrifying crack and a thud, she fell fifteen feet to the ground. Enouim and Ruakh cried out together, agonized cries mingling with the mist.
Just then a golden eagle swooped down through the trees and latched itself onto the shadow’s villainous form. To the surprise of the company, the demon was unable to shake the eagle. The two locked in combat with flashes of fire, claws searching, mace hurling. The mace dug itself into the eagle’s back, and the eagle transitioned before their eyes into a much larger creature, with tremendous wings, a dragon’s head, and a body like a great cat. Shrieks and roars filled the air, and a tremble rocked the earth.
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The two creatures fought on, changing forms or partial forms as fit their need. Enouim and her companions stood transfixed by the sight, frozen in uncertainty. Should they run? But Enouim’s feet seemed glued to the ground. Yadara, too, stared like a statue at Mereámé’s motionless form as the creatures flashed from this to that all around her.
Ruakh shook off the trance and rushed to Mereámé’s side. His movement seemed to wake Gabor, who followed. Canukke, Vadik, and Oloren remained in combat-ready stances looking for chances to join the fight or defend. Kilith and Baird placed themselves between the fight and Mereámé and ushered Enouim and Yadara behind them.
Enouim looked back and forth between Mereámé and the ever-transitioning creatures before them, unwilling to linger too long on either. All color had fled from Mereámé’s face, and she wasn’t moving. The shadow, now slinging what looked like chains, became a looming two-legged creature with a head like a huge wolf. Where had the chains come from? And where had the mace gone? The other became a lion and roared as the chains entangled it.
In a flash, the lion, their saving grace, vanished into thin air. Enouim’s heart lurched,. The shadow, however, realized the lion had become a hummingbird whizzing haphazardly overhead. The bird flew above the wolf’s head, transitioned into a massive boulder taller than Enouim, and then thudded to the ground with such weight that it rocked the earth and crushed the wolf-headed shadow beneath it. For a moment, its body lay conquered on the ground, then it melted away into nothing.
The boulder rolled toward Enouim. Terrified to suffer the same fate as the demon, she dove out of the way, taking Yadara with her and covering her with her own body, calling out to her friends as she did.
Enouim looked up in time to see the boulder shrink as it rolled and twist into what looked like a human form stepping out of the stone. At first the figure looked like a statue, until skin climbed up like vines to wrap itself around the shape. A woman now stood before them, dressed in an off-white tunic, raven black hair falling freely to her waist. She held her hands out, opened toward the travelers, and stepped toward Mereámé’s still body and her band of protectors. Gabor listened for a heartbeat, Ruakh cradled her head in his lap, and Kilith held one of her wrists, observing her carefully.
Canukke held up his sword. “What new calamity is this?” he demanded.
“Peace,” she said, with a voice like song.
“The stag seemed peaceful enough,” Canukke replied. “Shrouding yourself in white provides little comfort after the deception we just endured.”
“Perhaps another color would suit.” The woman tugged lightly on her tunic with her index finger and thumb. If clothing could wink, hers did, blinking black twice before settling into a grayish blue.
“Your power is more disconcerting than soothing,” Vadik remarked.
“There is no need for fear. And yet, the decision of belief is yours alone to make. Choose carefully, but do not delay. The master waits, and Mereámé is in need.”
Enouim’s gut pinched. How did the shapeshifting woman know Mereámé’s name?
“She’s dead,” Gabor said flatly, rocking back on his heels.
Enouim rushed to Mereámé’s side. Her friend’s face carried the bleak pallor of death. Mereámé, the gentlest and sweetest of them all, her excitement mounting as the legacy of her father came ever closer, meeting her demise at the doorstep of the stone. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. A lump lodged in Enouim’s throat. Hot tears ran down her face.
“She sleeps. Bring her and follow me.”
“I am acquainted with death,” Kilith said. “Let’s not raise naive hopes. She has passed. She was gone the moment she hit the tree.”
The woman looked at him with compassion, but her voice was firm and commanding. “Bring her, and follow me. It is not far, but we must leave this place at once. It isn’t safe.”
“She could have killed us by now,” Oloren said when no one moved. “We all know it.” To the woman, she said, “Tell us, what does this master intend to do with us?”
“Surely nothing worse than you do to yourselves,” she answered. “No, he is tenderhearted and gracious, welcoming to all.”
“We’ll see about that.” Baird sighed but sheathed his sword.
“Who are you?” Ruakh asked.
“I am called Fetrye, and it is my duty to protect these lands. Conand, whom you met, is a dark Malak. Had his supporters not delayed me, I would have come to you sooner.”
The travelers shared astonished glances. Fetrye was the Malak governing the territory neighboring Glintenon’s.
“Yes!” Yadara exclaimed with excitement. “I believe I saw you passing through our gates once, at a distance. You were in this form briefly. I … I sometimes watch the great gates, though its levels are above my ensign.”
“I have passed many times through your people’s well-preserved airways,” Fetrye said with a smile. “But come. It is time.”
Warily, the rest straightened and acquiesced to the woman’s direction. Kilith bent to lift Mereámé from the ground, but Gabor stopped him and gingerly pulled her into his own arms. Enouim walked as though in a daze, unwilling to accept what had just happened. Mereámé was a dear friend, and Enouim needed her to help her organize her thoughts and emotions, and to be gentle with her in mistakes. Enouim needed her bright eyes and salve spirit.
Now again they found themselves trudging on foot through the wood, as light began to dwindle into evening. Hungry, fatigued, and psychologically wearied, the band of warriors struggled on. Enouim wondered if this was Fetrye’s true form, or if she had chosen it because it was more likely to put them at ease.
Details of the changing forest edged vaguely into the periphery of Enouim’s consciousness, and some part of her was aware that the leaves were becoming greener and bright-green grass had sprung up lightly underfoot to pad their way. Enouim mildly resented the grass for its hopefulness, but was too exhausted to complain outright, and her aching feet were grateful for soft reprieve. Grieved as she was, she began to feel that their current circumstances would never change, that they had always been walking in dead-tired dread, and they would forever go on in that attitude. Time slowed down, but even so, Enouim was surprised by how quickly they arrived.
The trees, previously scattered throughout the forest without rhyme or reason, had become tall columns on either side, perfectly in line with one another so that they walked through a natural hallway extending perhaps thirty yards. Fetrye led them into the hall, the trees so close together it was impossible to guess what was beyond them on either side. Branches from both sides reached toward each other above their heads, forming an elegant arch. Green boughs spilled over and around them, with spongy moss and thick new grass carpeting the way ahead. At the end of the hallway an expansive meadow spread out before them, flowers laughing and whispering to the wind as it played lightly with their colorful petals.
In the center of the meadow sat a round stone table, perhaps six feet across, with small foreign lettering wrapping around the thick edge of the table in rows. At the end of the tree-lined hall, the entirety of the glade became visible, but not a soul could they see. Yet as they approached the table, two men materialized out of the air and stood, holding torches, on either side of the table. The men wore light-colored robes, in stark contrast to their metallic-bronze skin and eyes of fire. Enouim found their expressionless faces utterly terrifying.
At closer inspection, Enouim saw that the writing on the table was of many different scripts, most of which she couldn’t make out. But one she recognized; it read, Eh’yeh asher Eh’yeh. Her heart pounded within her. Eh’yeh! It was here! So the Levavin were the closest to the right pronunciation after all. Perhaps the table itself was the stone. If so, how on earth would they manage to take it back with them to Gorgenbrild?
Fetrye walked up to the table and flipped her hand in a swift gesture, palm out. The circular tabletop began to spin, then swiveled upright so that it rested on the ground, nestled vertically between its front two legs like a door. “He has been waiting a long time for you,” she said.
Enouim knew she was speaking to the group, but she felt Fetrye’s words as if they came directly to her own heart, for her alone. She wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Fetrye ushered them toward the tabletop.
“What are we supposed to do?” Kilith asked.
“Walk through it,” she replied.
Kilith looked between her and the tabletop. Vadik’s eyes grew wide, staring at the large stone slab. Canukke took Yadara’s arm as if for insurance of his own safety, but Baird and Kilith gave him a hard look and each stationed themselves on either side of her. No body shield for him today.
“Do it,” Gabor said, still cradling Mereámé’s cold body in his arms.
Do what? Get knocked out? Enouim walked up to the tabletop and placed her hand on the stone. It was solid. To be expected, she supposed. It was made of rock, after all. She looked questioningly back at Fetrye, and saw nothing but patient expectation in her expression. Enouim lifted her hand and rapped on it lightly. Nothing.
“Walk through it,” Fetrye said again, eyes on her.
Enouim felt her chest tighten, and butterflies fought in her stomach. You can’t do this. No one can. Even if someone could, it wouldn’t be you. Enouim shut her eyes and shook her head. Fetrye had saved them, and she said to walk through stone.
What if? That one thought took hold and sunk in deep. What if the stone is real, and everything you’ve done for the past months will be worth it? What if there is hope left? What if there is something to be found out that you will never know unless you try this now? Enouim hated not knowing things. If there was a chance she could find out what was beyond, if anything was beyond, well, she would ruminate on it forever if she gave it up now.
But how could she walk through a table? You’re being ridiculous. There is nothing for you here. Pakel is dead. Mereámé is dead. Your family is probably dead by now too. No, no, it couldn’t be. What if?
“Won’t you lead us?” Enouim asked, looking pleadingly at Fetrye.
Fetrye shook her head. “No.”
Seeing the calm finality in Fetrye’s face, Enouim swallowed and turned back to the tabletop. She placed her hands behind her back, determined to keep herself from testing the waters by reaching out. Surely it was a test. Reaching out had returned only hard rock, and if she was to discover what there was to find, she couldn’t test it. There was only stepping or not stepping, moving or staying still, and if her hands were free, she would definitely protect her face like any sane person would before walking into a wall.
Her many doubts still swirled in her mind, but the ounce of “what if” belief embedded in Enouim’s core and took control of her feet. Hands clasped securely behind her, she walked straight into the slab of stone. Through it. Yes, through it! She found herself stumbling into open air. She caught herself on the grass and looked behind her, but she was alone. The table was gone, her friends were gone. She spun around.
The glade looked the same size and shape as it had been in a moment ago, though this one was filled with flowers and the other was simply grass. Beyond the glade, fruit trees and bright colored petals interrupted flowing green. There, not ten feet from her, stood a man. He wasn’t nearly so impressive as the bronze men had been, and in fact was average on all counts —brown hair, brown eyes, mid-tone skin, neither attractive nor unattractive. Nevertheless, something about this man drew her in. He looked at her, and when she met his gaze, it cut to the core of her soul, at once alarming, vulnerable, frightening, and refreshing.
Enouim shared a wordless moment with the man as the two of them looked at each other. Though she was sizing him up as a stranger, he looked at her as though he’d known her all his life—his face tender, his eyes unyielding and affectionate. Though disconcerting and certainly bizarre, somehow Enouim felt no fear.
Oloren came through the stone table next, bumping into Enouim and jostling her out of her reverie. Baird followed, then Yadara, Kilith, and Ruakh. Brief pauses passed between each entrance—or exit. Enouim really wasn’t sure which it was. Finally Vadik joined them, and after a pause, Gabor pushed through the table with Mereámé in his arms. Canukke didn't come for a moment, and when he did, he arrived with Fetrye’s hand on his shoulder. She removed her hand once he was through.
Enouim returned her focus to the man, whose face was twisted in an anguish of grief, his eyes fixed on Mereámé’s lifeless body.
“What happened?” he asked.
“She’s dead,” Gabor said, voice cracking.
A tear ran down the stranger’s cheek, and Enouim felt the lump returning to her throat. An eerie silence stretched between them, strange for having just walked through the impossible. No one had slowed down enough to really process what had happened until this moment, and with this mysterious man’s welcoming tear, the floodgates opened. Gabor slowly began to sob, sinking to his knees, tears dropping onto Mereámé’s ghostly face as he held her.
Enouim’s eyes stung and watered. Here, in front of this weeping man who joined their sorrow before they had even joined with it themselves, each of them felt the gravity of their own burdens. Enouim saw the terror of Chayan’s murderous face, the fear of waking up in a rumbling wagon under a pile of blankets, and of finding herself on this mission. She saw herself comforted by Oloren and Pakel, offering a sense of belonging for the first time since leaving home—all stripped away with Canukke’s abandonment in Kalka’an. Enouim saw Pakel crumbling with Banor’s fatal blow. When Pakel died, a part of Enouim had been lost as well. She relived the simple ceremony shaving off a sliver of leather belt to honor their fallen friend.
A botched apology to Baird by the river, the horror of water and the sea serpent dragging her down to the depths, the perasors on the other side. So much fear and running, so little time for mourning. The nomad attack. More dead bodies. Their faces had filled her dreams that night. She had told no one but Mereámé. Mereámé. The ache inside of her grew with such a sudden strength that she could no longer fight it, and the lump in her throat turned into sobs that racked her body.
There they were, all weeping, some silent, some wailing, for a long and unhurried time in space. Some stood, some sat, some curled into balls in the grass. Enouim wasn’t sure how long it was that they spent there. Her weeping eventually ebbed and her breathing steadied. Fetrye remained solemnly at the back of the group, where Canukke still stood … gruff, but shaken. And the strange man, the ordinary man who was not ordinary, knelt over Mereámé, his eyes still glistening with tears.
He took her hand lovingly in his, and looking her in the face, he spoke to the dead woman in Gabor’s arms. “Wake up, little one.”
Immediately, color flooded Mereámé’s body and breath returned to her. She opened her eyes, smiling with wonder at the man who had called to her, and sat up. Gabor drew back in shock. She’d been dead for over an hour.
“Mereámé!” Enouim rushed to embrace her friend.
Mereámé held her close for a moment, but her focus remained on the man. The average man who was not average.
He raised Mereámé to her feet and addressed her friends. “Welcome. You have traveled long and are weary of body and spirit. Come, and I will refresh you. Mereámé must eat, and a meal is prepared for you all.”
“Who are you?” Vadik stammered.
“I am Eh’yeh.”
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Eh’yeh? Enouim’s head spun. Surely he meant that he was the guardian of the Eh’yeh Stone, its protector, or maybe even its keeper. How could a man be a stone? But then … how could a man make the dead come alive?
Enouim walked in a daze, following the man through beautiful natural enclaves and doorways of tree and vine. Moments ago, Mereámé had been dead. No breath, no color, no nothing. And now she was excitedly bouncing along after this magic man. The man who called himself Eh’yeh—though Eh’yeh was supposed to be the powerful object of legend that could save her homeland. If the stone didn’t exist, where did that leave Gorgenbrild?
