The Singing Stones of Rendor, page 12
part #1 of Eidolon Series
“Burn you, Cassie, you said you’d be here by morning.” The old man looked skyward shading his eyes from the sun. “It’s near mid-day, now. Come along. Help me with these tuning forks. They’re getting too heavy for me.”
Slipping the strap from his shoulder, he handed the kit to her. “Where’s your kit? Didn’t you bring any food or water?” He shook his head. “Never mind, I’ve enough here for the both of us.”
“You’re just handing these to me?” She took the kit and shouldered the strap.
“Why not? You always carry it for me.” The old boy stepped back and gestured for A’wyn to lead the way to the western knoll. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t move.
“My name isn’t Cassie.” She curtsied and smiled sweetly. “It’s A’wyn. A’wyn Bowyer. I just came by to—”
“Don’t be telling me your silly little stories, Cassie. You can scare the little ones in Kerner with them, but not me. I’ve heard them all. Everyone knows A’wyn Bowyer is an Inquisitor. One of the meanest, they say.” He reached into his tunic and drew out a slender metal rod.
“What? How did you . . . ?” She stopped, hoping to hide the fluster in her voice. He shouldn’t know about Inquisitors, or me. Did Cassandra come out here last night and tell him?
“I want to show you something.” He pushed one end of the rod in the soft turf.
“Hand me a B-flat, please.”
“What?” She looked at him with his hand out, waiting for her to comply.
“It’s your primary note, isn’t it?” He thrust his hand at her. “Come, now. Hand it to me.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe this. “How did you know my note?” The question was out before she could stop it. Alarm bolted up her spine.
“I’m a little surprised you actually used your real name.” He drew out a tuning fork from his tunic. “You now have a choice, my dear. You can forget everything you’ve learned at my henge, or you can die.”
What’s going on, here. A’wyn’s innards churned. How does he know all this? What is this choice all about?
Neither option was plausible to her. For her to forget meant some kind of multi-toned imbuement thread in her mind, which required at least two Inquisitors or a team of Enforcers . . . or, a disciplined wilder. Gods, not a wilder.
Death . . . well, she’d prefer not.
For the first time since becoming an Inquisitor, panic slithered through her thoughts. Who is this man? Is he really a Wilder? How strong is he? She centered her mind, focused on her song and quelled the jangling fear. She had to strike first.
She dropped to the ground on one knee, placed her knuckles on the soil, thumb and index fingers together, gathered her strongest weave and sent it racing toward the old man. Though no easy path existed, she pushed a winding braid that ripped through rocks, grass and twigs to the old man’s feet. Her weave died.
Shocked by the turn of events, she looked at the old man’s face. He smiled. A tuning fork hummed atop the rod he had planted in the ground. The fork hummed her note. He had cancelled the weave with her own tone. That was unfair. Anger flaired.
“I’ll make you the offer again.” He silenced the tines. “Forget or die.”
“There’s another choice, old man.” A’wyn snarled as a smug smile crossed the old man’s face. “Live and remember.”
She picked up a rock and hurled it at the fork. She clapped her hands and spun threads with a different tone. With her hands back on the ground, she prepared to attack. The rock missed its mark and hit the rod instead. It still achieved her intent. The fork toppled to the ground. Her weave, reborn, raced across the ground and found the old man’s feet.
She pulled, cinched the weave around his legs and sent him to the ground. With arms flailing, he scrambled to sit up. She stood and walked to him. The old man simply looked up at her, smiled then sagged into submission. She set her strongest weave on him and bound his hands, arms and legs.
“You are pathetic.” She tied off the last of the threads. “Using a tuning fork to cancel a thread. How amateurish. That may work on a monotone Enforcer, but not me. Perhaps you’re too old to learn how a multi-toned Inquisitor works their weaves.”
“You did very well, my dear.” His smile remained. “But, I fear you mistake me. I don’t wish to harm you, only to protect my henge.”
“Yes, well, death is a rather unpleasant option and I don’t intend to die anytime soon. However, your days may be limited.” A’wyn wove a sleeve around his neck and checked the tautness to make sure it was firm. “And offering to set a deep memory imbuement in me isn’t much better than death.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to kill you, just your song.”
“Even worse. I’ve seen those the Priory have silenced. It takes twelve powerful Weavers to silence someone’s song, Mr . . . uh . . . Stonebreaker, isn’t it? And you’re just one old man with limited skills.”
“Yes, limited skills, indeed. Thadeus Stonebreaker, at your service, my dear. But, you can call me Thad.”
“Well, Thad.” She sat on the ground next to the old man and placed the kit on her lap. “You must have quite a story to tell. How did you come by all these tuning forks?”
She opened the rolled leather kit beside her and removed a fork from a pocket.
“Oh, I’ve had them for years. I have more back at the Heart Henge.”
“The Center Henge, you mean?”
“Yes, but I prefer Heart Henge. My home is there, too.”
A’wyn considered searching his home. If her hunch was right, this old man might have access to more than just a bag of forbidden forks. He obviously knew more about these ancient ruins than anyone else did. Old stories told of recluses who lived among the standing stone having strange powers. None of those stories had ever panned out, but maybe this one will. After all, he had all these forks. Such evidence could lead to other compelling possibilities.
“How did you know about my primary tone?” She held up and examined one of the forks.
“I think I’m lying on a rock.” Thad squirmed a bit. “Will you help me?”
“Tell me how you knew about my note.”
“The henge told me.” He groaned, trying to roll away from his complaint. She pulled him back.
“You talk to the henge?”
“Oh, yes.” He chuckled. “It’s sings, too. It has the most beautiful voice. You should hear it.”
That was all she needed. The great henges had been dead and silent for 600 years. This old man’s mind was draftier than all the ancient bell towers of the Rendor Empire. He might have some skills as a Weaver, but a talking and singing henge pushed credibility. Obviously, the madness of being a Wilder had taken its toll.
“Mr. Stonebreaker.” She turned to him. “By the power conferred upon me by the Grand Peer, Supreme Peer of the five Realms, Grand Master of the five trade houses, Voice of the Veils, I place you under arrest for possession of a controlled item. Namely, tuning forks. A total of . . .” She counted the forks in the roll. “. . . twelve with one wooden mallet.”
“What about that one?” Thad thrust his chin in the direction of the toppled fork.
“Thirteen.” She reached out and gathered it up.
“And, what about the one in the stone?” Thad tried to roll and nod to the nearby megalith. She turned to find where he indicated.
“Oh, yes.” She quickly examined her binding weaves before she stood. “That makes fourteen tuning forks.”
She walked to the standing stone and pulled on the fork planted in the base. It didn’t move. She twisted, pushed and pulled again. Nothing happened. “How do I get it out?”
“Tap the tines and turn it. It’s best to use the mallet. Be careful, though. Don’t touch the tines after you strike it.”
“I know how to use a tuning fork, Mr. Stonebreaker.” She fetched the mallet and returned to the megalith.
She positioned herself to grasp and turn the exposed handle of the fork and strike at the same time. With mallet in hand, she gently tapped the tines.
Ting.
The sound of her signature tone engulfed her. The thrill of a major lift both familiar and godlike twisted high then plunged into a terrifying minor fall, foreign and malevolent. Her song, angelic at first, fighting to gain supremacy, soon became harsh and grating. The sound pierced and sliced through her brain. She clutched her head and fell to the ground, the world spun violently. Her scream went silent, drowned out by the shrill bloody pain seeping from her ears and her heaving stomach. Vomit spread on the ground before her face.
Her world went dark.
~~~
Thad sat up and swept the shredded weaves from his body as his beloved henge sang. The weaves had withered the instant she struck the fork. He stood, walked to the singing stone and silenced the fork. The writhing woman sagged and became still, though she
continued to whimper.
“Be still, now, my beauty.” He patted and caressed the stone with a tender touch. “Be still.”
Thad turned to the soiled Inquisitor and stood over her. “Can you hear me?” He toed her shoulder.
The unconscious woman, lying on her side, opened unseeing bloodshot eyes, which simply rolled up and closed again. Drool sloughed from her mouth and joined the pool of vomit which drenched her hair.
He knelt beside the stricken woman and rolled her onto her back. Vomitus mud covered one side of her ashen face. He opened a small water skin from his belt and began cleaning her.
A few moments later, she stirred and muttered incoherently. After several minutes, she sat up and complained about the headache ringing in her skull.
“Gods, that hurts.” Her voice rose barely above a whisper. She pressed the heels of her hands hard into her eyes and groaned. “What in the seven hells happened?”
She wiped her hands across her brow and temples before raising her swollen eyes to Thad. “Oh.” She groaned again and lay back down.
“Sit up, woman.” Thad stood over her. “You have a decision to make.”
A’wyn tried to rub away the pain in her head. “I feel awful.”
“There’s a stream nearby.” He gestured to the path. “You stink, I suggest you go bathe.”
A’wyn nodded, her voice weak. “What happens now, old man? Are you going to silence my song or quiet my memory with an imbuement?”
“Your choice, my dear.” He folded his arms. “I didn’t think to bring any soap.
I’ll let you bathe in private while you think about your future.”
“I don’t suppose there are any other choices you could offer?”
She slowly rose to her feet.
“Well, there is another option.” He offered his hand to steady her. “You could give up being an Inquisitor, renounce the Grand Peer and have your Ceremonial Imbuement removed. But, I’d need some help with that and it would take quite a while to arrange.”
“You’re saying you’ve done this to other Enforcers?” She looked at him doubtfully.
“Yes, quite a few.” He grinned at her obvious skepticism.
“Who?” She backed away from him.
“I doubt you’d know them. One who chose to forget is now a full-fledged Council Member of the Craft Trade House and the Western Knoll Priory.”
“Amazing.” She rolled her bloodshot eyes. “And you would remove my Ceremonial Imbuement, too? I’d end up being as mad as . . .” She caught herself, looking wide-eyed at him.
“Me?” He laughed, dug out some bread and a hunk of cheese from his kit then gestured for her to go bathe. “Don’t take too long. I want to finish this before dark. It’ll take a little time to prepare for . . . your future.”
“I assume you have a tracking thread on me.” A’wyn stood stiffly. “Is that why you’re just letting me go off alone?”
Thad handed her the food, smiled and pointed in the direction of the stream.
~~~
A’wyn ate the bread as she staggered down the narrow path from the crest of the knoll. As she walked, the pain in her head began to clear as well as her thinking. “Where is that tracking thread attached? How am I going to cut it?”
She walked by the shrub where she had hidden her bow and quiver. An idea began to gel as she ate the cheese. She walked on to the stream, stripped and bathed in the cool water. While she rinsed the filth from her clothes, her idea coalesced into a plan of action. “It’s a chance, at least. And, I’ll take my chances with the gods before I’ll submit to that gnarled lunatic. I’ll have to report this. Let’s see if he can handle a dozen Inquisitors.”
She walked to the hidden bow and quiver wearing only her small clothes. She selected an arrow, nocked it and resumed walking. As she crested the knoll, she found Thad standing by a megalith within easy shot, looking straight at her. With the practiced expertise of a champion archer and the cold purpose of an Inquisitor, she launched an arrow at his heart. Barely two heartbeats later, the shaft had found its mark and pierced the old man’s tunic. To her dismay, the projectile rebounded off his chest as Thad recoiled from the impact. Man and arrow fell to the ground.
Another heartbeat and she realized her backup plan was now in effect.
Run.
Her long legs served her well in rare situations like this. With bow in hand she sprinted back down the path, gathered her quiver, ran past her wet clothes and across the stream toward the forest.
She ran as fast as she could, along the path, knowing the old man could not possibly follow for long. If she made it into the trees, she could lose him easily. She left the path when it turned away from the forest and her bare feet began to protest the coarse, uneven ground. A distant tone rang in her ears.
She hummed, in an effort to counter the hateful noise. Trying to ignore the rising pain in her head, she forced herself forward. The trees stood only a few more paces ahead. She had to get more distance between her and the old man. Somehow, he was able to use the henge to extend the range of those tuning forks.
Her vision began to swim as she stumbled into the tree line. “Deeper, I’ve got to get deeper.” She ran into the shadows, rolled over a fallen tree and fell into a shrub. She scrambled from the grasping shrub, panting, sweat streaming into the fresh cuts and scrapes on her body.
She tugged her quiver from a clutching branch, stumbled and braced herself against a tree. Tree sap clung to her hand. Seeing an opportunity to quell the piercing tone she quickly set a weave and drew out more sap. Forming the sticky liquid into two small balls, she stuffed them in her ears and sealed them from the agonizing noise.
The silence was beautiful. She put her back to the tree and slid down the trunk, ignoring the grasping bark and sap. Her panting subsided and her heart slowed as she sat on a mound of moss between the tree roots, bow and quiver across her lap. A sense of relief began to rise within.
Where is he? She peered out from the cool shadows of the forest trying to see the henge. She crawled back to the log she had rolled over to get a better view. Trees obscured her vision, but she could make out most of the distant southern henge and trail.
She jolted with alarm as Thad emerged from behind a tree at the edge of the forest. She stood, nocked an arrow, loosed it and watched it pass right through a shadow. Good gods, I could swear that was him. The wraith continued straight toward her holding out the silhouette of a fork in one hand. She wouldn’t waste another arrow on a shade.
She ducked behind the log pushing the sticky earplugs in further. Why didn’t I run, instead of sitting here, waiting for . . . what, death? She rose and peered over the log again. He was coming straight at her. She lowered herself and began crawling away, deeper into the forest.
Scrambling through shrub, brush, bush and vine she found a pair of large upright boulders and crawled up to a tree growing between them. She stood behind it and scanned the shadows for the old man. Sunlight dappled the undergrowth of the forest floor, but the shade was too deep, swallowing her vision.
Silence brooded heavily upon the forest, birds fluttered from limb to limb without a sound, the breeze . . . “Oh gods, I can’t hear anything.” The loss of one of her senses, at first so welcome, now stood her hair on end. She didn’t dare remove the safety of her earplugs. “How much noise have I been making?” Her skin crawled with apprehension, her eyes leapt from shadow to shadow in a frantic search for the henge man. Behind her, she saw the hope of light in the distance.
She ran. The forest opened on a rutted old road. With no one in sight, she crossed it and dove into the forest beyond.
~~~
Thad watched her jump down from her perch. He made his way to the twin boulders, patted each of them and set his kit down. He would need something other than his little wooden mallet to activate this pair.
“I wish they wouldn’t run like this.” He poked the ground between the boulders with the metal rod. “Now, where is that blasted cache?” A solid thunk soon told him he had found it. Clearing away dirt, leaves and twigs, he lifted the granite lid of a small stone box. He drew out a book, caliper and steel mallet.
He unrolled the kit of tuning forks and selected two. His hands swept away the weaves that hid a keyed hole on each boulder. The forks slipped in easily. He opened the book, thumbed through several pages then ran a finger down a column of figures. He found what he wanted, dialed in the calipers to the desired length and adjusted each tuning fork to span the distance from the stone to the saddle of the tines. With the forks locked in position, he picked up the steel mallet and struck one.
~~~
A’wyn stumbled from the forest into a clearing. Before her, she saw a man standing on a boulder. He loosed an arrow toward a charging wolf. In the distance, she saw a giant pressing a hand to the ground. She began to call out.
Waves of disharmony overcame her. She felt, but could not hear, the ground falling out from under her. Like a rippling pond, the silent meadow fell away. She fell into the choking dust. Her body slid, tumbled and absorbed the crush of stone and soil. Then it stopped. The silence and darkness suffocated her.
