Into the Stone Land (5 page)

Tall's face turned red. “I meant no disrespect. I—”

“—wanted to speak and did. I would expect no less from any man in our village.”

“Man, me? I failed, elder. A bull and queen are dead because of me. I live only because he saved me. His death should have been mine.”

The smoot reached down to help Tall to his feet. “You speak from the place of your sorrow when you should speak with your heart.”

“My sorrow is in my heart. My sorrow fills my heart.”

“Your sorrow fills your mind. Your heart knows it was his time. His pain has ended now; he has found peace. There is no pain or sorrow or unhappiness where he is now.”

“I mourn him as I would a brother.”

“You know nothing of true mourning. You mourn his absence. You mourn the loss of your friendship. You do not mourn as a father would, as a brother would. If you did, you would see the sum and measure of the choices that lead him to his path. You would know he made wrong turnings, wished with all his heart to correct them, and did so when the opportunity arose.”

If Tall believed this, he showed no sign. “I should have been the one and not him.”

“That is the truth of your sorrow. Isn't it? You feel guilty because you live. Your sorrow is because you wish he lived and you had journeyed on. Well, that's not how things happened, but you can make your life into one that's worthy of his sacrifice. Think now… Think carefully. Will you rise to the occasion if given opportunity?”

Tall didn't answer. He had no response that seemed appropriate.

Chapter 5: The Outcast

Tall walked beside the elder, mindful of his step as he moved across a wide opening and onto another house. Here the smoot stopped to pick through a plentiful growth of black root. The old bull aided the gathering by digging with his great claws. The smoot put dozens of the long rooted plant in Tall's backpack—root, plume, and all.

When it was time to go, the smoot bounded away faster than Tall thought possible, with old bull at his side. The smoot called back, “Well, will you or won't you?”

Tall raced to keep up. “Will I or won't I what?”

“The boy returns,” the smoot muttered as he turned down a new lane. Then his jaw clenched in the way that forewarned. “The white root there won't gather itself.”

Tall worked quickly, digging up and stowing whole plants in his pack. He said nothing of the oddity of not separating root from plume.

The smoot set a brisk pace. Tall struggled along behind with the heavy pack. By the time the sun was midway in the sky, they'd worked their way almost to the far side of the deep loch.

Tall saw the deep pool off to their left as they worked their way toward the growing wall of stone. His pack was filled well beyond its normal capacity. After collecting dark and light root, the smoot had taken Tall to a wide growth of bittersweet. Not far from there they'd found both gritty and stinging near a hot wading. The smoot had even told Tall to gather scatter bush pods and spike bush thorns. He had collected these even though he didn't know what use they were. But in truth, Tall wanted nothing to do with either.

Plants were tricky. Many were edible; many more weren't. Some plants cooked before eaten were okay. Others were always deadly. Scatter bush was one of these. One pod mistakenly added to soup killed wise old Harn, the smoot's predecessor. Spike bush sap was almost as deadly, but it did its job slowly through infection.

Just when it seemed they must be nearing the loch's farthest shore, the illusion faded. They rounded a bend and Tall saw the long serpentine line of the shore head off into the distance. The new vantage point also gave him a new view of the wall. Moments ago, he was sure the stone wall would collapse in on them. Now he knew how far away the wall really was—and how terrifyingly big.

Tall staggered under the weight of the pack. He was ready to crawl into a cool shading and go straight to sleep. He would have, too, but the smoot and old bull were bounding across houses with the same lively step they'd started out with.

For a time, they seemed to be playing a game of catch-me-if-you-can. He'd race, panting heavily to catch up with the smoot, who had stopped with an elbow perched on the old bull's back, certain the smoot was going to quit for the day. But no sooner did he catch up than the smoot and bull bounded off.

Each time this happened, Tall'd stare after them for a few long breaths before starting. Then he'd hurry off.

He was hurrying to catch up with the smoot when he got a good scare. A thick mound began to writhe and loop. He caught a quick glimpse of sliding scales and a large, black eye, and maybe a fang. Then an enormous slither appeared.

The slither's lashing tongue just missed Tall's face as it shot out at him hissing. The last thing Tall saw was the great hood on its head opening, the body thick as a tree, snapping into a coil. He raised his staff instinctively to protect himself, but too late. Fortunately, the smoot and old bull intervened. The smoot was at Tall's side pulling him away to the left while old bull came on strong from the right. One rake from old bull's claws sent the slither hissing in retreat.

“I see now why Keene interfered when I forbade it,” the smoot muttered. He pulled Tall onward. “You've the skill, not the application. Of all the 12-winter boys to put our hopes in. If only Ray'd returned by now, it'd all be so less dire.”

The only thing Tall heard of any of it was the name. “Ray?” he said. “What's he have to do with anything?”

“Never mind,” the smoot said. “Mind your step. It's gone, only wanted to protect its patch. There's worse around, though, so I'd keep my hands on my staff if I was you.”

“Okay, okay,” Tall said. The smoot stifled a rare smile. Tall felt certain the smoot had no high opinion of his skills, and he hadn't done anything to change the smoot's mind.

They were underway again, Tall keeping a sharp eye on the weed-grass and nearby scatter bush. He was recovering from his embarrassment, and the smoot was racing along the bank. One moment the smoot was muttering on and on about the loss of hope, or something to that affect; the next the smoot was wading out into the shallows and standing on an outcropping of rocks. The rocks were dangerously wet and slippery, though the smoot fixed his small feet as firmly to them as the slimy covering allowed.

He paused to reach down into the water, snatching up something long and sinewy. Afterward, glancing briefly into the murky wet, he plunged in and plucked up another wiry creature with his other hand. Both hands full of what Tall now realized were squirming bulls—hatchlings by the look of them—the smoot made his way back to Tall. He was weaving to keep his balance.

Behind him, something broke the surface—some things, Tall corrected, and they were all racing after the smoot, whipping tails and generally writhing.

Tall thought of the old queen's hatchlings immediately, but these were bigger than he remembered and more plentiful. Mad as buzzers, they seemed to be drawn by the smoot's abduction of their brethren.

A mob of hungry hatchlings was an ugly thing, and even the old bull drew back at their approach. The smoot kept at it, bending double to offer the two captured hatchlings something from his pack. When all the hatchlings were falling over one another at Tall's feet, the smoot took more offerings out of his pack—something dried, smelly and pressed into long sticks.

“How did you know where they were?” Tall said amazed. “You couldn't see them, but you snagged them right off.”

“Been following us all day.” Then, pointing back to something, Tall didn't know what, the smoot add, “And so has that one.”

“These are the old queen's. They've grown, but it's them.”

“Bullnip,” the smoot said briefly. Tall knew what bullnip was. He'd never seen it pressed and dried into little logs though. He suspected there was a reason for this. He wasn't going to ask, but then he said, “Bullnip is against our laws.”

“Never the apt student,” the smoot chastised. “Always with your paintings when you should've been learning your father's trade.”

“I am my father's son. I know the crafter's trade.”

“You know it but don't feel it in your heart. Never have, never will, because in your heart, you, Tall, are a caller with the mind of a seer.”

“Caller? Seer? Me?”

“Ray's path and your path must cross, I've seen this. I've known this. Just as you may start to see.” The great arbors of the loch were starting to cast long shadows. The smoot eyed the biggest and oldest of the three. “My path will one day be yours, but first you must rid yourself of the caller in your heart.”

Tall's brain buzzed. His father was a crafter. He knew little of other village trades. Gathering, growing, building, speaking, weaving—these were trades for others, not him. His mother had once called him a seer—to his father's utter dismay. “How else would he get these visions of these, these— things,” she had said. The pictures he had drawn were of mountains floating in the clouds with wide rivers flowing from their lofty heights.

“Tall, listen to me, and listen closely. It's your time to rise above. You must leave our world now to rid your heart of the calling. Just as Ray's path took him out into the beyond, so does yours. Ray is in danger; great, grave danger. I'm afraid you may not be able to save him, but try you must. Within him, he carries the key to saving our people. He can end your calling as well, so that you may return a seer and take my place.”

“Take
your
place? And where will—” Tall noticed old bull's eyes on him. The bull was watching him around the smoot's arm. The smoot was pointing to something dark in the distance that was moving rapidly toward them. Though he wanted to flee, Tall stilled himself. It seemed to him that he ought to follow the smoot's lead. But when he heard a low cry and another and another, he almost jumped into the loch.

It had felt as if they were isolated temporarily from everything else. Now the soft cries rose up from all around, like there were extra voices chiming in to some unknown chorus.

Old bull slipped into the loch just at the wet's edge. Through the undergrowth Tall saw flaring nostrils first and then large, black eyes. Above this ears and a dark, shaggy mane.

It was the yearling and he'd brought his mother. Tall started to reach out to stroke the mother's head. The smoot said, “No, don't. You've already bonded too many to you. Too many attachments weaken the connections.”

“Smoot?” Tall said, turning and looking at the elder as if for the first time. He seemed to lose control of his legs. He drooped to his haunches, then collapsed to the ground. His mouth fell open in shock. “Smoot, what's happening? What's—”

Tall tried to stand, found he couldn't. The smoot moved to steady Tall. “Too late, much too late…” The smoot muttered. “True enough, the connection doesn't need a touch, only a yearning, and your heart is filled with yearning.”

As if summoned, the hatchlings came to Tall. Scrambling to see which could get closest, some crawled over his legs and lap, others his hands and arms, but every single one looked up at him with its head raised and a hunger in its eyes. The smoot seemed to be speechless for the moment as his gaze passed over the scene.

The sun was beating down now, a hot, orange-red ball just above the top of the towering stone wall. The focused rays brought odd shadows. The oddest of them all was the shadow mountain cast by the tangle of Tall and the hatchlings.

It was a silent scene until the smoot found his voice. “Foolish, foolish. You've bonded too many. As the hatchlings grow so does their feeding on the bond. As if that wasn't enough to break you, you bonded a yearling and now a full grown mare.” More quietly, he added, “If these bonds break, you're doomed, doomed. They'll turn on you sure as the sun rises and sets. I warned Keene not to interfere. I warned him. His father's meddling no doubt.”

Tall felt a numbness move up his toes. He looked down and saw his legs weren't there. “Smoot, smoot! What's happening? What's happening? Smoot? Smoot?”

The smoot look as scandalized as anyone could. “It's pulling you to the other side.”

“The other side of what?”

The smoot reached out quickly, grabbing both of Tall's hands in his own. The grip was so tight Tall thought surely his fingers must snap. “Quiet. Focus… Dream it back to life or you'll be swept away.”

“Away to where?”

“Look down!” The smoot commanded. Tall did. To his horror he saw that his legs, waist and chest were gone now and that only his arms, neck and head remained. His head spun with the impossibility of it all while the smoot spoke quickly of what he must do. “Dream it back now, boy. See it in your mind's eye. Imagine it to life.”

“Imagine what to life?”

“The connection. The connection. I didn't mean to scare you before with thoughts of them turning on you, but it may happen someday. You've bonded too many, much too many. But believe me now when I say that if you don't reconnect with them, you will disappear with it—lost to the other side for all time.”