Ritual of the Stones (Ballad of Frindoth) (4 page)

“Now
you listen to me and show me the respect I deserve as your father. You will
start obeying me from this moment on. This character that you are becoming,
this … this sullen, defiant, damn right unpleasant little sod that you are
behaving like lately stops tonight. Do you hear me? It stops tonight.”

Jensen
looked at him in disbelief. Rhact still gripped Jensen’s shirt as he became
aware of Kiana and Janna in the doorway. Kiana put a protective arm around
Janna. She looked surprised as if seeing Rhact for the first time. Janna was in
her nightgown, her brown hair dishevelled from where she had been sleeping,
looked openly scared of her father. Rhact released his grip on the shirt,
smoothing down the creases he had caused.

“Are
we done?” Jensen whispered, looking at the floor, already there was a red hand
print appearing on his cheek. 

“Yes,
we’re done,” Rhact whispered.

Jensen
shrugged his shoulders again and skulked off, passing Kiana and Janna without
even looking at them. After a few moments, Kiana guided her daughter back up
the stairs. Rhact heard the low murmur of voices coming through the floorboards
as Kiana tried to reassure her daughter that everything was okay.

Deflated,
Rhact began scooping the mud off the table into his cupped hand. When had
Jensen changed from the inquisitive little boy that looked at him in awe into
this moody young man? He felt like he did not know him anymore. Jensen always
wanted to be off doing other things. Playing with his friends or doing who
knows what.
Was I like that at his age?
Rhact had definitely wanted to
be elsewhere in the world, exploring the cities he had only ever heard of, but
he didn’t remember being so hostile.

He
threw the scooped up dirt into the fire and then went over to the front door, closing
the bolt across the lock. He was reassured by the weighty sound. He then slid
his back against the door and sat at its base, resting his head against the
wood. He heard Kiana descend the stairs and enter the room.

“Is
he like it with just me?” Rhact asked without looking up.

“No,
my dear, he is a teenager, this is how they behave.”

“I
don’t see him doing it with you or Janna. Maybe it’s something I’ve done to
upset him?”

“You
haven’t done anything. He is just being Jensen.”

“I
just don’t want our relationship to turn out like the one I had with my father.”

He never had a
great relationship with his father. They got along well enough but there was
never a sense of closeness. They never did anything together other than the
jobs around the farm. They certainly never really laughed together or held any long
talks about Jensen’s future.

“It won’t.”

“Well, we are
heading down the same path. By the moons, Kiana, I struck him!”

Kiana
came over and sat next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and placed a
hand on his leg. They sat like that for a little while. Rhact was grateful for
his wife’s presence and for the fact she did not try and talk to him about his
actions. He did not think he could handle it just yet.

They
both jumped at the sound of someone pounding on the door behind them. Rhact’s
heart thumped in his chest; it was unusual to receive visitors so late. He
looked warily at Kiana, who looked just as confused as he did. He licked his
lips and called out in the most authoritative voice he could muster.

“Who
is it?”

“It’s
me, let me in.” Rhact recognised Mertyn’s voice instantly.

Kiana
frowned and walked away, no doubt thinking that Mertyn was still drunk. Rhact
pulled back the bolt and opened the door. Mertyn bent over and was breathing
hard. He was dressed in an outdoor cloak draped over his night clothes. He had
obviously dressed hastily as he did not have any socks on and the laces on his
boots were undone.

“What
on earth is the matter?” Rhact asked.

“
Just … just heard,” Mertyn said between deep breaths.

“Heard
what?” Kiana said, appearing by Rhact’s side.

“The
witch is here … just arrived …”

Kiana
gasped, the witch arriving could mean only one thing. She was here from the
Order and she was here to escort someone to Lilyon as part of the Ritual of the
Stones.

“Looks
like your feeling was correct after all,” Mertyn said. Rhact didn’t smile.

Rhact
woke to the clanging of the town bell. He knew from the fact all the covers
were on him that Kiana was already up fixing breakfast. He reached for the jug
of water by his bed and poured it into the empty glass, savouring the drink as
it quenched his dry throat.
Why do I drink?
he thought, recalling the
night before.

After
Mertyn told them of the witch’s arrival, he and Kiana had stayed up talking.
Both were shocked by the news; never before had the Ritual of the Stones
directly impacted their town. It was a well-known event but at the same time it
seemed that it took place in another world. The closest it had come to
affecting anyone in the town was twenty-four years ago when the miller Dick
Enerton had a nephew in Westbury fountain selected as one of the twelve.
Although the lad had never been chosen as the final person to be sacrificed,
everyone knew the story of how Dick’s sister (the lad’s mother) had gone into
shock, a streak of her hair instantly turning grey and her mind closing down
completely to never recover.

“What
do we do if it is one of us, Rhact?” Kiana had asked him in a small voice.

“It
won’t be, there are a lot of people here, honey, over three hundred at least,
you know that. The chances of it being one of us are very small,” he had said,
although he had been thinking the exact opposite.

He
was now certain the feeling which had been growing inside him for weeks had
been warning him of the witch’s arrival. He also had a very uncomfortable
suspicion that things were about to get a lot worse.

“I
guess,” Kiana said, “there is a good chance that it might be someone we know,
though.”

Rhact
had no answer to that, for he could not deny the truth in the statement. In a
town where he knew the majority at least by face, he realised that if his
suspicions were wrong then the best he could hope for was to watch another
family fall apart.

“It
is going to be a terrible summer for Longcombe, isn’t it?” she said, already
seeming to come to the terms with the terrible news that awaited someone.

That
was Kiana’s way, he thought. Establish the facts and deal with them. He knew
that she was mentally processing every scenario that might occur and coming up
with the best solutions.

“I
can’t even begin to imagine what it is going to be like,” he replied and that
was the honest truth. How did you deal with the fact you or your loved one
could be chosen for sacrifice? How do you deal with that kind of thing
objectively? You could try convincing yourself that you would be saving
thousands of lives if sacrificed, but how do you deal with the injustice of it
all?

As
Rhact dressed himself that morning, the town bell continued to clang. It only
ever rang for three reasons: a rapid ringing to indicate that the village was
in danger from a fire or an attack; a slow “dong” to signal there was a
significant death; or a steady clanging like this morning to notify the town
there was an important village meeting.

“Mother
says to tell you to hurry up. She wants to be able to stand at least within
earshot of the mayor.” Rhact looked up to see his daughter Janna standing in
the doorway to the bedroom. She had spoken whilst chewing one of her
fingernails. He was pleased she did not appear to be affected by the incident
last night.

At
fourteen years old, she had not yet succumbed to the teenage rebellious
behaviour that so many children (most notably Jensen) went through. This
morning she was wearing a simple beige dress and her brown hair was pulled back
into a tiny ponytail. Being pretty did not concern her and she made no attempt
to make the most of herself. Not that she was an unattractive girl, and in
truth her lackadaisical approach to her appearance only highlighted her natural
beauty.

“Tell
her I’ll be down shortly.”

* *
*

It
was only eight short steps up to the wooden platform, but by the time Mayor
Pinkleton waded through the crowd and made his way onto the stage, he was red-faced
and breathless. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow.
His flowing grey beard fell past his neckline and a blue flat cap gave him the
appearance of a fisherman. He wore a frilly white shirt that barely contained
his enormous belly. One of the buttons popped open to reveal some wispy chest
hair. He raised a hand to silence the ever growing crowd and then bent over to
catch his breath. This elicited a few snickers in the crowd which he didn’t
notice.

At
sixty-one years of age, Mayor Pinkleton was already a year past the official legal
age to own such a title. However, due to his dedication to the role and the
fact that there were no serious contenders when he offered to retire last year,
he remained in office.

In a
village like Longcombe, his duties were not exactly arduous. Although the
village had a population of three hundred twenty-four people, everyone had
their defined roles and responsibilities and tended to stick to them. Mayor
Pinkleton found there was no real need to tamper with the order of things and
let the village run itself. He certainly had no contact with King Jacquard
other than the occasional emissary checking on the state of the town.

Presiding
over the Ritual was his first real role of importance. That is not to say that
he didn’t host these regular meetings; Mayor Pinkleton loved the sound of his
own voice and would often be found hosting a meeting on whether or not the
village should extend its boundaries by an extra half a foot or not or whether
it should erect a higher perimeter wall (the current one already exceeded eight
feet and was more than sufficient). The people always voted the same, Longcombe
was not a town and there was no need to pretend to be independent. The majority
of Frindoth did not know that it even existed so it certainly didn’t need to
control who came in and out of the village.

In
truth, Longcombe was not far off a town, but just lacked the population. Mayor
Pinkleton set himself the primary objective of trying to attract more people to
the village. He had erected two gatehouses at either end of the village and saw
to it these were guarded at all times. His aim here was to give the village an
impression of importance. Nevertheless, despite his tendency to take his role
too seriously and fixate on the most mundane issues, Mayor Pinkleton was much
loved throughout the village.

The mayor
raised his hand a second time and the crowd gradually grew silent. As far as
Rhact could tell, the whole of the village was in attendance to see the witch.
Mothers jiggled their babies on their arms trying to hush them, whilst several
villagers brought boxes to stand on for a better view. Although it was morning,
the temperature was already rising and the smell of sweat hung in the air,
mixing with the sense of nervousness that people were feeling.

Mayor
Pinkleton would not be happy that so many people were standing on the village
green. Surrounding the green were the commercial buildings that were the
backbone of the community: Henry Cauldrop’s blacksmith shop and Cordon
Fertuop’s mill were the two largest buildings and easily provided most of the
trade; opposite these stood a
dilapidated
wooden
building that used to house a carpenter and the Green Stag Inn.

Rhact eyed the empty building longingly. It had not been a
carpenter’s since Keelo Brom had retired four years ago and his two apprentices
had left Longcombe to find work in the cities. He had designs to take over the
building himself, however, as Kiana repeatedly pointed out to him, Longcombe
did not have any visitors as it was, so owning a large shop to sell fancy
candles would be a waste of time.

Rhact knew she was right, but he also knew he was better than your
average candle maker and dreamed of owning a far larger shop than the cramped
space he occupied now. Most of the time he was forced to travel to Compton to
sell his sticks.

Interspersed amongst these were various smaller shops:
cordwainers, woodworkers, fletchers, etcetera, and market stalls that mostly
sold food grown in the nearby fields or carders and dyers that worked on
clothes made in the villagers’ own homes. Rhact noticed that some people who
could not cram themselves onto the Green hung from every window overlooking the
stage in anticipation of what the mayor had to say.

Rhact stood toward the back of the crowd on a box he was forced to
go back and fetch upon seeing the sheer volume of people that had amassed
already. He caught sight of Kiana who was next to Janna and was talking to
Mertyn’s wife Tyra. As if sensing his gaze, she turned and looked up at him and
scowled. She was obviously not impressed with how long he’d taken to get ready.

Rhact had already heard several fantastical stories detailing the
witch's past exploits and how powerful she was. He was particularly amused to
listen to two elder men tell a young boy the witch had once turned a man’s skin
inside out for merely looking at her the wrong way. The men spared no detail as
the boy’s eyes grew wide open with fear. Rhact sighed and turned his attention
to the mayor as he cleared his throat.

“People
of Longcombe, I have been mayor of this village for five years. During that
time, I have never experienced such a heavy heart as I have today. As a mayor,
you want to inspire your people to greatness, my aim has always to put
Longcombe on the map, to make others in Frindoth know of our community and all
it can offer. To—”

“Get
on with it,” cried an onlooker.

“Yeah,
cut the crap, Pinky,” shouted another.

Anger
flashed in the mayor’s eyes. He steadied himself and continued, “No doubt you
have all heard the news. I can confirm that the rumours are true. This year,
the Ritual of the Stones will directly impact us.” Despite everyone being fully
aware of this, people still gasped as the mayor confirmed it. A steady murmur
grew amongst the crowd until Mayor Pinkleton once again signalled for silence.
“You are all aware of the Law. Whoever is selected must proceed to Lilyon
before the solstice. It is their duty to Frindoth, The Gloom must be appeased.”

Angry
protests began immediately.

“What
has Frindoth ever done for Longcombe?”

“Why
should we sacrifice one of our own?”

“The
Gloom will never find us here, the people of Frindoth can’t even find us!” Despite
the gravity of the situation the last outburst was greeted with a ripple of
laughter and caused Mayor Pinkleton to clench his fists. Most of the villagers shook
their heads at the comments. They all knew that when it came down to it, there
was nothing they could do to get out of doing their duty. Even if they intended
to disobey the Law, the witch was there to accompany them back to Lilyon.

Rhact
noticed the crowd had begun to part towards the front of the stage. One by one,
men and women who were facing the stage were tapped on the shoulder. They
turned, their faces registered surprise and then they made way. A small cloaked
figure walked through the parted crowd. The green cloak the figure wore was
unremarkable, and certainly nothing about it distinguished the figure from the
other villagers’ attire, but Rhact knew instantly it was the witch from the way
she strode through the crowd with an assured confidence.

As
she walked up the steps to the stage, she lifted the cloak from around her
ankles, a simple motion to prevent her tripping that somehow came across as
dramatic. Mayor Pinkleton hastily vacated the stage. Rhact figured the mayor
had already spent more than enough time in the witch’s presence.

The
witch reached the centre of the stage and turned to face the crowd. The silence
that engulfed the village was oppressing, even the Mistdrop, the icy river that
ran through Longcombe, seemed to be muted. The witch raised her hands to her
hood to throw it back and then lowered them, thinking better of it. This single
action filled Rhact with dread. Suddenly he could well believe the stories he
had heard of her. This woman considered herself too powerful and too important
to waste her time revealing herself to the whole village. Rather than coming
across as arrogant, it served to increase the mystique surrounding her. When
she spoke she did not waste time with pleasantries.

“The
Ritual has begun. The location of the stones has been revealed to the Order,
and we know who has been chosen to come to Lilyon. By dawn the day after
tomorrow, you will know who you are. There will be no need to report to me, you
can say your good-byes or you can sneak off quietly, it makes no difference.

“Rest
assured, though, I will be watching you. I will know if you deviate from your
destiny. If you haven’t set off by dusk four days hence, I will come for you.”

She
paused. Up until this moment the hood had been covering the majority of her
face, and the villagers could only make out a mouth, two full lips mesmerising
everyone with the rich tone of her voice. Now she raised her head and although
the shadow cast from the hood still covered her face, two brilliant green eyes
were visible. “You really don’t want that to happen.”

Rhact
did not doubt the warning for a second. He didn’t believe anyone else would
either. His body was rigid. She addressed everyone, but Rhact felt she had
reached into his soul and personally sent him the message. He wondered if the
other villagers felt the same.