Creator of the Stones, page 1
Creator of the Stones
The Stone Guild: Book
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 J. R. Geraci
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
Cover art by Kate Ferrio
ISBN 979-8-218-17073-8
Published by In a Nutshell Inc.
inanutshell.jrgeraci.com
For my mom.
My first editor; my first fan.
Chapter 1
The Outcast
He stood in front of her door long enough for it to be awkward. His hands were sweaty and shaky. He told himself once, then again, and then for a third time, that he could do it, that he could extend a fist and knock.
On the other hand, Jaxon thought, it was not too far of a journey back. If he left now, he could make it all the way to the inn he’d stayed at the night before. A hot beverage and a warm bed sounded better than the uncertainty ahead. He could try again in the morning.
He turned around so quickly he almost ran into her.
“Can I help you?” A silver haired woman stood there glaring at him, one hand resting on the sword at her side. Dirt stained the sides of her tunic and mud caked her pants at the knees. Fierce green eyes pierced his own, and for a second, he wondered if she could read his mind.
He stumbled backward. “I . . . uh . . .”
“Leave,” she said. “Or I will cut that useless tongue free of your mouth.”
“My name is Jaxon,” he said. “And I need your help.”
“Unless you want directions away from my door, I cannot help you.” She pushed past him.
Desperate, Jaxon said, “You’re Lady Gwen Gibson, aren’t you? The knight who fought in the war of Isabela? The woman who can speak to trees?”
Gwen paused at the door, her frown lines deepening.
“I need your help,” Jaxon said. “I need you to teach me.”
“What can you learn from an old lady like me? Go find a man to help you pick up swords.”
Jaxon reached a hand out to stop her from slamming the door in his face. Cupped in his palm was a glowing green stone.
“They can’t teach me about these.”
“That’s not possible.” The color had drained from her face. “I’ve never seen a man with the ability to channel the nurture stone’s energy.”
“Now you have,” Jaxon said. “Can you help me access its power? The healers back home won’t help me. They tell me I’m unnatural.”
“You are.” Gwen held open the door. “Come in.”
Jaxon tripped his way inside, the dreary sky behind him quickly forgotten.
Green invaded the inside of Gwen’s home. Vines crawled and crisscrossed up the walls. Small blue flowers blossomed throughout the green. In the center of the room, a tree grew straight up through the middle, reaching up and out of the roof.
“Never seen plants before?” Gwen grumbled. Her legs were already propped up on the kitchen table as she leaned back in her chair and watched him with narrowed eyes.
“You must be at least fifteen—sixteen maybe? Most stone bearers are already well practiced at your age. What is it you think I can teach you?”
“I need to learn how to heal.”
“Healing is just one piece of that stone’s power. Are you sure you have the ability?”
Jaxon pulled a leaf from one of the many plants beside him. He held it up close to the stem and focused with all his might, willing it to work now, when he needed it. The green stone in his palm obeyed him and began to glow. The leaf refastened itself to the stem. A faint shudder of weakness ran through him.
“My brother is sick,” Jaxon said. “Other stone bearers have tried—and failed—to heal him. I came here to learn from the strongest living healer.”
Gwen seemed uninterested in this; she was still staring at the stone. “Tie that around your neck—stop holding it loose like that. Where did you even find it?”
“I made it,” Jaxon replied, knowing she wouldn’t believe him.
Gwen raised her eyebrows. “You made the dirt too, then? And the sky? I’d ask if you killed for it, but nothing about your nervous nature makes me think you’re capable of such a thing. How much do you know about the stones?” She crossed her arms, leaning backward in her seat.
Jaxon’s hand tightened around his stone. “I know the green nurture stone can grow plants and heal wounds, the red fusion stone can pull from any element it’s near, and the purple clarity stone can read human emotion—and in some cases, see the past, present, and future. The story says there were three gods who created the stones—one who gave the world life, one who gave that life strength, and one who gave it connection to all other life.”
“Yes, quite the old maid’s tale,” Gwen said softly. “I can help you find someone who can train you, but I’m afraid you don’t want me as a teacher.”
Before he could reply, three loud knocks shook the house.
“Who is it now?” Gwen muttered. Jaxon guessed she didn’t often get visitors. She wrenched open the door, her sword clasped tightly in one hand. The green stones wrapped around her neck glowed as she reached toward the vines on the walls.
“Calm your tits, Gweny. The king sent me.” A tall, wide, muscular man stood before her, with a shit-eating grin on his face. His brown hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun, and his unkempt clothes suggested he hadn’t seen a bath in a few days. A large axe on his back was peeking over one shoulder. The dire bear insignia on his left sleeve indicated he was part of the King’s Watch.
Gwen closed the door in his face. He caught it before she could lock it.
“That’s no way to treat one of the king’s finest men,” he said, pushing himself inside. “I’ve moved up the ranks a bit since your days of pushing me around.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Sir Greg, why do you find yourself here, in my home? You know as well as any that I haven’t worked for the king in ten years.”
“He’s summoned you. You’re the only person he trusts to keep an eye on Annabel. She’s to marry Prince Jonathan, and he wants you to make sure she arrives safely in Windsor.”
“I wouldn’t trust the people of Windsor with my morning tea, no less with the Princess,” Gwen spat. “She’s barely a woman, and they’re sending her to the edge of the world, with men who live on cliffs?”
“So, you’ll do it then?”
Gwen practically growled her no.
“Unfortunately,” Greg said, with no sign that his jolliness would be dissipating anytime soon, “you don’t really have a choice in the matter. The rest of the guard is waiting outside to help escort you to Viridis.”
“I just took on a new apprentice.” Gwen was clearly struggling to find an excuse. “I have to stay here and train him.”
Greg noticed Jaxon for the first time. He looked him up and down, from his disheveled brown hair to his worn shoes. “This scrawny kid? Fine, bring him too. I’d love to watch you torture a scrub. It’ll be just like the old days.”
That clearly didn’t go as Gwen had planned. Jaxon could tell there was a weight on her shoulders now, as she silently accepted defeat. She wasn’t alone in her hesitation. Viridis was the last place Jaxon wanted to be.
Gwen’s eyes met his. “You heard him, kid,” she said. “You’re coming with us.”
Chapter 2
The Shriveled Man
Large vultures circled the market. Quinn watched the birds, waiting for the circle to close in. She’d seen more and more of them lately, closer to areas they usually avoided.
The sun was rising, illuminating the skyline in deep red. The cobblestone streets below were quiet. Quinn leaned back on the roof, fiddling with her knife.
Beady yellow eyes found her own. The unusually small red-haired fox nuzzled his pointed nose against her cheek. A large patch of white surrounded one of his eyes, but the rest of his fur matched her own auburn hair.
The fox’s tail brushed sideways, tickling her arm. He squinted at her, as if to say, “This again?”
“Just a little longer, Kit,” she told the fox.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one vulture swoop lower. Kit darted into the bag secured beside Quinn’s quiver, as though he knew what was coming.
Quinn was on her feet in seconds, racing across the roof, the shingles clapping under her boots. She clambered down the side of one of the buildings, with a quick detour over a balcony.
“Hey! Get off my—”
She ran past the empty market stands and saw it. The body was just like the others. All the life had been sucked from it, the skin taut and white as a sheet. Suppressing the urge to retch, Quinn moved closer.
There wasn’t a single mark on the man’s skin. His clothes were free of any identifying features and there were no weapons at his side. It looked as though he were strolling down the cobblestone path when he collapsed here, to die what she assumed was a lonely, confused death. Around his waist, he wore a belt that was typical of red stone bearers, similar to the one wrapped around her own waist. But his was empty. She ran her fingers across it, feeling for the empty holes where the stones would normally decorate it.
When she was sure there were no clues left, she ran to find
Quinn pulled herself over the last ledge, just out of sight of the guard she knew was around the corner. The sun had finally peeked over the horizon. This was her favorite time of the day, when the world was just waking up.
She looked out over the mountains towering around her, glowing from the rising sun. The castle was nestled just inside the foot of Mount Zelen. It overlooked the city center and the village that expanded out for miles beyond it. The Viridis River flowed below the east end of the castle, twisting and turning as it followed along the city and was obscured by forest.
“Quinn, is that you?”
“Coming!” Quinn tore her eyes away from the horizon.
Princess Annabel was sitting inside near the window. She looked as stunning as always, her brown skin glowing in the morning light. Her black hair was braided in the front and puffed outwards and upwards in a perfect silhouette over her head, more elegant than the crown she usually donned. Her deep brown eyes crinkled with joy when they met Quinn’s gaze. Kit had already found his way to the princess’ shoulder, greeting her cheek with a wet tongue.
“What’s the news?” A map was pulled up in front of Annabel; it sat surrounded by sheets of paper crowded with scribbles. Kit scurried over the papers and curled up on the desk where a sliver of the morning sun was warming the wood.
“Another one,” Quinn said. “The same thing—all the life was drained from his body. There was no one around, no evidence at all, no cuts or scratches on the body. He was in the market . . . much closer to the castle than where the others were found.”
Annabel grimaced. “I’ll talk to Father.”
“You already know that will do nothing!”
“Shush, Quinn. Calm that fiery head of yours.”
“Hmph.” Quinn pulled her quiver and bow from her back and fell across Annabel’s bed. Her mind drifted as she thought about Annabel’s father, King Edward, and the rest of the Williams family. She knew Annabel’s father almost as well as she knew Anna herself. Quinn’s own father, Commander Maxwell, led the King’s Watch, while her mother was once tasked with helping to raise Annabel and her younger sister, Cassandra.
Until the princesses came of age, Quinn had lived with her parents on castle grounds. This meant she spent most of the first seventeen years of her life alongside the Williams family, at Annabel’s side.
Even when Quinn was not forced to be around Annabel, she’d found herself choosing to be there anyway, drawn to her kindness and her infinite wisdom. Quinn had vowed at a young age to protect her friend, no matter the cost. She believed more than anything that the kingdom needed Annabel to guide them forward.
King Edward was just as kind, but Quinn had always thought of him as slow to act and blinded by the need for diplomacy. Ten years ago, he had lost the love of his life in the war. He had yet to stop grieving. Queen Isabela had been a lot like Annabel. Quinn suspected the king saw this likeness in his daughter and that it was his fear of another loss that encouraged his inability to act.
“You still think it’s the red stone?” Quinn asked. She was fidgeting with her own stones, which lined her belt.
Annabel frowned. Though the princess bore no stones herself, Quinn knew that she had read every book in the library, had studied every map available to her, and had taken lessons from bearers of each of the stones.
“Even if it is, that doesn’t mean what you fear it means,” Annabel said. “Just because the red stone is capable of bad—”
“Evil.”
“Fine, evil. Doesn’t mean it is the source of all that is wrong.”
Quinn sat up on the bed, holding her knife. She concentrated on the flame beside Annabel’s map, feeling its warmth, absorbing its energy. The stones on her belt glowed a soft red, and her knife lit up in flames. Annabel’s warm brown eyes danced in the light.
“You chose to direct the energy to that sword,” she argued playfully. “The evil came from you, not the stone.”
Quinn attempted to hide a smile and pulled the heat free from the blade before sheathing her knife. She laid back down on the bed. Her two twisted red buns pushed out above her, like her head too had caught fire.
“For once,” Annabel said slowly. “You are overthinking.”
Quinn grabbed a pillow, and with all the force she could muster, threw it at Annabel. She blocked it with her arms, laughing.
“I liked to see you do it!” Annabel said, quickly blocking a second pillow.
“I’m going to use my arrows next, Anna!”
“Truce,” Annabel cried, throwing up her hands in defeat.
Their laughter had startled Kit from his slumber. The fox leapt from the desk to Quinn’s lap, momentarily distracting her from attacking Annabel.
A loud knock broke the silence.
“That’s my cue,” Quinn said, throwing her bow and quiver back over her shoulder. She was out the window before Annabel could object.
“Don’t do too much thinking today, Quinn,” Annabel called out after her.
Rolling her eyes, Quinn began the long descent down the castle wall.
Chapter 3
The Bar Maiden
The trees climbed endlessly over Jaxon’s head, blocking out so much sunlight that it was difficult to tell what time of day it was. It was eerily quiet here, as though even the trees themselves were sleeping.
He’d never traveled through the Red Forest before. It was somewhat of a myth that even the most skilled warriors would mysteriously disappear as they made their way toward Viridis. During the war of Isabela, this tale only seemed to strengthen, as the forest took more men than it ever had before.
Jaxon was keeping pace behind Gwen, lost in thought. A handful of soldiers accompanied them, as well as one green stone bearer who served as the group healer. They all moved with respect for the trees. All of them, that was, except for Greg.
“Where do you find a big, cold mug of ale around here?” his voice boomed. Jaxon swore the ears of every creature in the forest stood up.
“You drink, kid?” he asked Jaxon, squeezing his shoulder.
“Oh, sometimes.”
Greg laughed heartily. Gwen, who was walking not too far ahead, turned back to glower at him.
“Just twelve and already slamming ‘em back, eh?”
“Sixteen,” Jaxon corrected. But Greg had already moved on.
“The Crow’s Nest Inn isn’t too far from here. We should be there by nightfall tomorrow.”
“How often have you traveled the forest?” Jaxon asked. He guessed the man’s laidback nature in the Red Forest had more to do with his experience than anything else.
“More times than I’d care to count.” Greg’s expression darkened. “The forest and I are old friends.”
“Is it true that people disappear here?”
“Only if the forest deems them unworthy.” He said it so solemnly that Jaxon was unsure whether he was joking or not.
“Why not use the trade bridge instead?” Jaxon had always been told that the trade bridge was the safest way to enter Viridis.
“The forest is faster if you know how to navigate it. We don’t have time to journey south to the bridge.”
“Sir Greg, time for some grub,” one of the soldiers called to him.
The group found an open space to rest beside the road. A supply of bread and cheese was passed from one soldier to the next. Jaxon, who had run out of food that morning, was relieved when they passed him some too.
He'd barely dug into his roll when Gwen appeared before him. Her silver hair was dulled by the lack of sunlight, but her green eyes were just as fierce. He choked on his food, immediately assuming he’d done something wrong.
“Follow me,” Gwen said. Jaxon stashed his bread in his pack, his stomach grumbling in protest. One of the soldiers watched them wander away, looking nervous.
“Don’t go too far,” the man said. Jaxon heard Sir Greg making fun of the soldier as they walked deeper into the forest, now enclosed by trees.
