A Stone's Throw, page 2
part #2 of The Petralist Series
“Do you feel like you’re losing control?” she asked, crossing her arms and giving him a hard look.
“Not really, but sometimes I get angry easy.”
She huffed. “You’re sixteen, Connor. Of course you get angry easy. It’s called being a teen-ager.”
“But what if it’s the first signs of losing control?” he asked, voicing his darkest fear. He was cursed, had turned sixteen, and had lost patronage. If anyone learned the truth, he’d be executed again, permanently, to protect the nation from a curse raging out of control.
“Nonsense,” Ailsa said. “You’re in better control than almost anyone I know.”
“Easy for you to say,” he retorted. “You’re not the one who could go mad and kill everyone around you.”
Ailsa placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed. “Connor, I know you’re worried, but sneaking into High Lord Goban’s palace was foolish.”
“It was the only way I could see what he was like,” Connor said. “He’s always hidden away in there. I’ve barely caught a glimpse of him before today.” He added, “He was accepting petitions for patronage. It was my best chance.”
“And what did you learn?” Ailsa asked.
“He’s no better than any of the others,” Connor muttered, dropping into a hard-backed chair. “Why do they make it so hard to swear loyalty to them?”
“Oh, and you know so many high lords?” Ailsa asked, her tone teasing. “You haven’t even met High Lord Dougal.”
“I wish I had,” Connor admitted. “Now I’ll never get the chance.”
He’d fled High Lord Dougal’s realm, and his home, after the crazy events of Alasdair. General Carbrey and Shona thought him dead, or they’d hunt him down to finish hanging him. He tried not to think back on those days, but the memories still depressed him. He’d wanted nothing more than to pledge to High Lord Dougal and assume his place as a Guardian.
Things hadn’t been that simple.
“We’ll figure something out,” Ailsa assured him. “In the meantime, no excursions into the city alone, Connor. You’re not ready.”
“When will you think I’m ready?” he asked. “When I turn into a frothing monster?”
“Get those thoughts out of your head,” she said, tapping his hair. “You’ve missed most of our practice time, but I think we can squeeze in a little granite work.”
She led him out of her office, into the workroom, and Connor paused as usual to enjoy the sight. He’d arrived barely a month prior, exhausted and hungry, his clothes worn, after a long, difficult journey across half the length of Obrion. Ailsa had taken him in, and this room, more than any other, already felt like home.
It was the smell of the place that first won him over. It smelled like home, even though it looked nothing like anywhere he’d ever lived. The giant, vaulted room, which took up more than half of the ground floor of Ailsa’s huge estate, was richly appointed, far more than even Lord Gavin’s manor. The fact that she used it as a workroom seemed somehow wrong. The high ceiling was held up by massive beams, removing the need for interior support pillars, resulting in a cavernous space that still felt barely large enough to house all of Ailsa’s work.
Ailsa was a sculptor. Dozens of statues in various stages of completion rested on individual pedestals or reinforced work tables. They ranged from giant statues that would require teams of oxen to move to their final destinations in courtyards or city squares, to tiny carvings no bigger than his thumb. Ailsa and her four assistants worked at the many projects, sometimes switching from one to another at seemingly random moments. Connor hadn’t figured out the process yet, but he was studying hard.
As foreign to him as the size and grandeur of the room might be, it smelled right. Broken stone and dust were scents as familiar to him as the smell of his mother’s fresh-baked bread or the scent of the Lower Wick River that flowed near his home in Alasdair. Ailsa tried to keep the air fresh, often opening the giant, folding doors that made up part of one outer wall. When opened, the huge doors could be folded back to make an opening twelve feet tall and twice that wide. Raineach lay far to the south of Alasdair, and summer lingered long there. The days were still warm, although the nights were carrying a hint of autumn coolness.
Today the doors were closed, but bright afternoon sunlight streamed through the seven towering windows. The ceiling was covered with interlocking wooden planks, stained a warm golden hue and lacquered until they shone in the light. In an attempt to mask some of the comfortable scent of dust and broken stone, Ailsa maintained long flower boxes under every window. The sweet smell of dozens of bright, late-season flowers overlaid everything and lent the space a homey feel.
Connor breathed deep as he followed Ailsa into the huge space. Her assistants were away, delivering a finished piece to a lord in town. Ailsa always found ways to spend time with him alone, and used that time to train him in the use of his curse, despite her busy schedule. He owed her not only for the precious power stone she acquired for his use, but for the depth of her wisdom.
“I used granite some today,” he reminded her.
She frowned. “We’ve been practicing control, Son, not hunting for ways to turn yourself into a ballista bolt.”
“Crashing into that pavilion would have hurt a lot more if I hadn’t used it,” he offered.
“And what have you learned from the last test?” she asked, her eyes flashing with a hint of impatience. She shared the same emerald gaze as his mother, although where Lilias was a bit plump, Ailsa was wiry and energetic, strong from working her craft all her life.
Connor shrugged. The last test had seemed strange. She’d ordered him to tap granite, but then try to use a tiny hammer and chisel to tap gently on a thin piece of marble. He’d broken it, of course.
“It still doesn’t make sense to use granite for something that doesn’t require strength.”
“Who’s the best Cutter in Alasdair?”
“My dad.”
The question surprised him and drew his thoughts back to his family. The town had been shattered by the flood Connor had unleashed to separate the armies and stop the fighting. It had been the only way to spare his family, but in saving the village he had all but destroyed it. His father, Hendry the Ashlar, had no doubt faced the challenge of rebuilding with the same unbreakable spirit he faced everything. Connor missed him, but was glad his father was there with the village when they needed him the most.
His mother would be leading the women’s circle, organizing supplies and preparing the town for a harsh winter. He missed his mother’s legendary hugs, although he’d never admit it. He often found himself savoring the last long embrace she’d shared with him before he’d slipped out of Alasdair forever and began his long journey south. He even missed his solid, dependable brother Blair and his younger siblings. So often while living at home, they’d been an annoyance, but now he longed for a chance to see them again.
Even if he returned to Alasdair, things could never be the same. Hamish was gone, taken away to Granadure by the retreating armies of General Wolfram. Connor hoped he was okay. If he was with Verena, he’d be fine. She’d look after him. Connor suppressed a flash of jealousy.
Jean would still be in Alasdair, and it would be wonderful to see her. The truth of his curse and the deadly battles around Alasdair had tested and changed them all. Jean would always be a dear friend, but their youthful daydreams of a life together had evaporated under the heat of battle, as had so many innocent dreams from the days before.
“Your father is the best Cutter because he’s the strongest?” Ailsa asked.
“No. He’s just better.” He was also the Ashlar, although he’d sacrificed his precious diorite hammer to give Connor a way to blow the mountain and escape the loch where he’d been trapped and drowning.
“Why?” she pressed. She had an annoying habit of digging at a point until he saw deeper truths.
“He has the most skill,” Connor said. “The most control.”
“But he can cut as fast as any of the other men, right?”
“Even the foreman only beat him some of the time.”
“Think about it, Connor,” Ailsa said with a nod of approval. “It’s about control. Learn control now and it will serve you well later.”
He wanted to ask her how she knew. She was a sculptor, not a Guardian. He didn’t understand how she knew so much about his curse, more than he ever had before being taught by some of the greatest Petralists in High Lord Dougal’s armies. Yet she had shared truths with him that they had not. She taught concepts with simple clarity, making sometimes-complex ideas seem accessible. That ability only came with mastery of the topic being taught, but no one gained that knowledge unless they were a Guardian or a Petralist. How had she?
Ailsa glanced out the window. “Enough with theory for today, I think. Time to apply what you’ve learned.”
“You mean, the game?” Connor asked, grinning.
“That’s exactly what I mean. After all, everything we do is part of the game.”
Chapter 3
Connor followed Ailsa eagerly out of her mansion. It was a good sign that she’d decided to move right to the game. She had a quick temper sometimes, but her anger faded just as fast.
“Have you found any obsidian to practice with?” He asked as they walked.
The itchy strength of granite had been his constant companion all his life, although growing up he’d hated it for making him so sick. Only that year had he learned that his hated curse held the key to superhuman strength, the same as the famed Boulders. Purging unspent power nightly was such a simple thing, and it would have saved him so much suffering had he understood sooner.
He’d easily established affinity with basalt and loved the freedom of speed, running like the Striders. Obsidian was the one igneous power stone he had yet to try, and he longed to test it and taste the power of the Blades.
“Not yet,” she said. “Obsidian is more difficult to obtain.”
“Why?”
“There are probably a number of reasons that contribute to its scarcity,” Ailsa said as she led him across the well-manicured lawns. “But the primary reason is that the noble families prefer to keep that stone in reserve for their own children. Blades are a powerful force, and the nobles feel it most appropriate that Petralists establish primary affinity with obsidian over common linn. Nor do they want to risk allowing foreign nations to get their hands on it.”
“You mean Granadure?” Every time he mentioned that country, his thoughts turned to Verena. The cute but deadly Builder had wormed her way into his heart, and thinking of her helped him feel content with the choices he’d made. It also sparked a different kind of longing, one he’d considered often during his long, lonely trek south to Raineach.
“No,” Ailsa said. “Granadure has their own sources of obsidian. I’m talking about the nations of the Arishat.”
“Bless you.” It was a strange-sounding sneeze.
“The Arishat,” she repeated, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m guessing I’m supposed to know what those are,” Connor said.
“You’ve never heard of the league of nations?”
Connor shrugged. “We never heard much of anything in Alasdair. How can Obrion and Granadure be a league of nations if they hate each other?”
“Your education has some serious holes.”
“I’m getting pretty good at filling holes,” Connor reminded her. Some days, that seemed to be a large part of what he did in the forest behind her house.
“The Arishat is a league of five other nations. Four of them make up most of the rest of the continent upon which we live, while the fifth lies across the sea on a land to the south.”
Connor waited for the punchline, but Ailsa looked serious. “Wait, are you saying there are other countries out there beside Obrion and Granadure?”
She laughed. “Of course. Did you think the entire world was made up of our two countries?”
“Why hasn’t anyone ever told me about this?”
“Beyond the high lords’ penchant for hoarding knowledge,” Ailsa said. “Few get any interaction with foreigners from the Arishat nations unless they live in the designated trade centers. All foreigners are closely monitored and their travel options are limited. We’ll have to plan a lesson to discuss the Arishat and their history as vassal states to Obrion centuries ago.”
“So it did used to be one country,” Connor said, feeling a bit justified.
“The world is a big place, my boy,” Ailsa said. “Understanding it will be an important part of your education. You cannot find your place in ignorance.”
She was always saying things like that, but he’d already found his place. He was there with her. He was studying hard, learning the business of sculpting. Of course, he hadn’t found any knack for anything but sweeping and cleaning, but he’d find a way to help. It made him feel a little small to think the world was so much bigger than he’d known. Traveling the length of Obrion, he’d seen firsthand how big this country was. Most people he knew wouldn’t want to know more, but he wondered what the rest of the world might look like.
“In fact,” Ailsa said as she turned onto the track that led into the thick forest behind her estate, “The nation of Ravinder lies not far from here. Raineach is the eastern terminus of the Great Western Road. If you traveled that road just a few days, you’d enter the plains of Ravinder, and it would eventually lead you all the way to Maninder, their capital, one of the great trading cities of the world.”
“Can you show me the road?” Connor asked, wondering if he’d passed it on any of his clandestine journeys into the city.
“Another day, one that doesn’t include making yourself a target of Goban’s troops.”
“No one saw my face,” he reminded her. “And I outran any pursuit.”
He thought back to the days when he’d first learned to run with the Striders, speeding around the mountains of Alasdair. It was when he’d established affinity with basalt that he’d first drawn the attention of Shona, even though he’d already saved her from the Grandurians once. She’d been delighted to think he could possess the rare gift of the Agor, establishing dual primary affinities, and had taken him in as her pet project.
He thought of their adventures together as he followed Ailsa into the forest. The lovely Shona, daughter of High Lord Dougal, had taught him some of his first lessons, had shared the thrill of discovery with him as they explored the extent of his unique curse. Her attention had overwhelmed him. Too bad the dream had turned into a nightmare.
“You never act surprised that I can use two primary stones,” Connor asked. “Why not?”
“You’re not the first Guardian I’ve known who thought his affinities alone were enough to impress people,” Ailsa said.
“When did you know other Guardians?” Connor pressed. He’d never heard her talk about how she’d acquired her knowledge of Guardian powers.
“Oh, I’ve known a few,” she said. “But that line of questioning is not important right now. Since you’re bent on thinking deep thoughts, answer me this. For primary affinity stones, why is granite the most common?”
“I don’t know,” Connor said, but she gave him her disapproving look, so he thought about it harder. “Well, you said the nobles want to keep Guardians from becoming Blades.”
“True.”
“Do they test linn first with granite, then with basalt second?”
“Very good. That’s exactly what they usually do. The birthing houses are in charge of testing newborns, and they have quotas to meet.”
Connor shuddered to think what his life might have been like had his curse been discovered at birth like his father’s brother, who he’d never met, who had been taken away as a child. He never would have known his family. He might be living a life of banishment from Alasdair now, but at least he knew his home, had lived there most of his life. Then again, if he’d been taken young, he would have been assured patronage instead of living on borrowed time.
“The next question you should ask yourself,” Ailsa said. “Is why are igneous stones always the primary affinity? Why not start with the coveted elemental powers?”
“I don’t know. That’s just the way it is.”
“Try thinking deeper sometimes, dear,” Ailsa said. “There are always deeper truths, if we can just find them.”
“Do you know why?”
“I have suspicions.”
“What kind of suspicions?”
“I’ll share them with you eventually. But I want you to think on it for a while.”
Later. They topped the final rise, and Connor paused to stare at the game.
Chapter 4
Aunt Ailsa’s sprawling mansion sat on a four hundred acre estate in the low hills to the southeast of Raineach. Even though the outskirts of the city were just three miles away, inside the thick forest of evergreen and hardwoods, it felt like they were completely isolated. Ailsa had designated a narrow valley between two steep hills on the east side of her property as the location for The Game, and they’d started construction the day after he’d arrived.
Connor paused at the summit of the low hill marking the western boundary of the Game and surveyed their work. The mansion was invisible a quarter of a mile behind him. To the north were stacked many cords of wood that he had chopped in recent weeks, using a reinforced axe that could withstand the power of his granite-enhanced arms. Beside the stacked wood was a high pile of trees he’d ripped out of the ground by the roots to make way for the marvelous game. All of it would have to be split by him. The area smelled of turned earth, fresh-chopped wood, and evergreens. The sky above was clear and blue, with only scattered, puffy clouds, and the sun-warmed game beckoned him on.
Connor didn’t mind the hard work it took to build this secret challenge course. He loved the Game and would do whatever Ailsa required for the ever-growing construct. It filled the meadow that he’d cleared out of the forest. The ground was smooth and level, a result of his regular practice with slate. The stone was a difficult tertiary stone for Connor, but the work to fill in the holes left after ripping out all of those trees had provided many opportunities to practice. Each time, he found the connection with the elemental earth a little easier.
