Rain Of Stone (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 1)

by Lesley Woodral

  “Only one other thing.” Gerrick’s voice was a whisper. “If, at any time, you wish to challenge the curse, whether it’s before or after you reach manhood, you may do so. He will come and you can set a time and place for your fight.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Brandon said, staring at his uncle.

  “Sometimes, knowing where and when you’re going to fight is more important than knowing how to fight.” Gerrick said. He met Brandon’s gaze, his eyes hard and intense. “The only time you should ever do this is if you know that you have an unknown advantage over your opponent. And that it is possible, however improbable, to win the fight.”

  Brandon nodded and stood. “Is it okay if I go outside for a little while? I need some air.”

  Gerrick nodded. He said. “You’re not going to try and challenge the curse out of some misguided need for revenge, are you?”

  Brandon shook his head. “I just need some air.”

  Gerrick said. “We’ll forego training tonight. Don’t stay out too late. You need to get some rest. You’ve been through a lot today.”

  Brandon only nodded. Then he left, closing the door behind him as he did.

  Gerrick stared at the closed door for a long time, thinking about everything that had been said. There was more that he had to tell Brandon. Much more. But he felt they had made a good beginning, even if it was a little rocky at the start. He turned in his chair and looked out of his office window, at the gathering clouds, and he thought about the goddess. About Nina.

  She was not his goddess, though Gerrick knew her power. Had felt her guiding touch during the long war, before the fall of the Storm King. The fall of Brandon’s grandfather. Though he knew her, he had never been comfortable accepting her help. His were the gods of the winds. The Four Brothers.

  Those were the gods of the Four Towers of Ginji. His father’s gods, though Gerrick had long since stopped worshiping them. They had gone mad during the war, turning on their worshipers and tearing the towers apart in their madness. Now, they fought one another constantly. Too busy trying to destroy each other to worry about the prayers of one lone warrior.

  Gerrick looked at the sword resting on his desk and felt the fear stirring. The fear that always came on the eve of a great battle, moving around in his gut like a fistful of writhing worms. It would go away once the fight started, he knew, but the fear was there, just the same.

  Time was running out.

  For him, as well as Brandon.

  Chapter 28

  Outside, Brandon walked barefoot across the grass. The ground was cold, still wet from the rain, but Brandon didn’t let it bother him. Summer was slowly giving way to fall. The nights were getting longer and he could feel the cold trying to sneak into the night air. Overhead, dark clouds hid the night sky, painting the yard in tones of gray and black. Brandon knew that he should be frightened, worried about the curse, but he wasn’t.

  He was thinking about Claire.

  He walked past the training circle, noticing again how the ground always seemed dry inside the circle, even after the rain. The rocks surrounding the circle gleamed wetly in the dark, reflecting the moonlight as it filtered through the clouds as they moved. Brandon let the night air wash over him as he walked slowly across the yard.

  He knew that his uncle was right. He had to stay away from Claire. If the two of them kept up the way they were going, he knew that they would sleep together. He had thought of it, more than once, as they walked together. When he held her hand or looked into her eye, all he could think of was how her lips tasted and how her body felt pressed against his own.

  He didn’t think he could do it. How could he tell her that they couldn’t be friends anymore? That they weren’t allowed to love one another? It would break her heart. He knew, because it was breaking his just to think about it.

  Brandon reached the rock bridge at the edge of the backyard, stopping as he neared the center of it. Leaning on the edge and peering down at the black water flowing underneath, he thought of the day he and Claire found the graveyard. They had been standing in just this spot together. Watching the water. That was the day of their first kiss. He dropped to his knees, letting his forehead rest against the cold wet rock of the bridge, and started to cry. They were silent sobs, at first, but soon his shoulders were shaking with the force of them. He hadn’t felt this horrible since the day of his parent’s funeral. It felt like he was getting ready to kill himself.

  Brandon cried so hard that he didn’t realize it was a voice he heard coming from somewhere beneath the bridge. Just a mumbling sound, like the babble of the creek, but deeper. Brandon stifled his sobs and choked down his anger long enough to listen.

  For a long time, he heard nothing. So long that he began to think it was his imagination, then the voice spoke again. It was a man’s voice, he thought. It said. “Quit your belly aching, boy.”

  Brandon was on his feet quickly, stepping back from the edge of the bridge. He said, trying to sound older and tougher than he was. “Who’s there?” He thought that it might have been Gerrick, but that idea was tossed when the voice spoke again.

  “Nobody of consequence, little man.” It wasn’t Gerrick. The voice was stronger now, seeming to come from somewhere underneath Brandon. It was deeper than Gerrick’s voice. A bass rumble that sounded like something out of a movie. Brandon was suddenly reminded of the story about the troll under the bridge and the 3 Billy goats gruff.

  Stepping lightly and quickly, Brandon left the bridge, moving toward the house. He stepped around the arch of the bridge, stopping near the edge of the water to peer underneath. It was completely black under the bridge. He couldn’t see through to the other side. He couldn’t see the source of the voice. Resisting an urge to break and run for the house, He said. “Are you Sha’ha’Zel?”

  The sound of the Curse’s name coming out of his mouth nearly sapped the last of Brandon’s strength. He felt his bladder threatening to let go and knew that if it was the Curse, he would have no chance of escape. All thoughts of the rules and the fact that he was technically still a boy flew out of his head.

  But the voice only laughed. “If I was, do you think I would be lurking under bridges? Where did you learn that name, boy?” Brandon froze in place, unsure of what to do. He thought of going after his uncle, but didn’t want to look like a coward. That the voice knew about the Curse blew his other theory out of the water; that it might be a hobo, taking shelter for the night. He took a slow step toward the darkness, heeding his instincts, which were telling him that he was in no immediate danger. The voice didn’t sound hostile. Just grumpy. Brandon said. “I could ask you the same thing. Who are you? Why are you on my land?”

  “Your land?” The voice laughed again. It was a rich booming sound and Brandon was surprised his uncle didn’t hear it, even in the house. The voice continued, saying. “So young, boy, and you’re already laying claim to things that do not belong to you?”

  “This land does belong to me.” Brandon said, feeling his anger rise. “It belonged to my father before me and his father before him. Now, answer my question. Who the hell are you?”

  The voice boomed, louder than before. So loud that Gerrick had to hear it. It thundered inside of his skull, shocking tears from his eyes and driving him to his knees. “AND WHO GAVE THIS LAND TO YOUR FATHER’S FATHER, WHELP? WHO WAS THERE TO SEE THEM BUILD THEIR PUNY HOME AND LIVE THEIR PUNY LIVES? I DID NOT SEE YOU THERE, BOY? NOR DID I SEE THIS MAN THAT YOU CALL UNCLE?”

  Brandon had his hands over his ears, the voice crashing inside of his skull. He stared back at the house, expecting Gerrick to come crashing through the back door, waving his sword.

  But nothing happened.

  Not so much as a light came on.

  The voice fell silent, its words echoing inside his head but Brandon could tell that it was only a waiting silence. He took his hands away from his ears and spoke, his voice low and respectful. “May I ask your name?” “You may ask.” The voice said, its tone back
down to a dull rumble. “And I may tell you. But you tell me, why should I give you something as powerful as my name? What have you done to earn it?”

  Brandon had no answer for that. So, instead, he said. “Are you always so rude to people you’ve just met?”

  The voice laughed. “I think I like you, boy. Despite your weakness.”

  “Weakness?”

  “Were you not blathering about like a weeping woman, only a moment ago?” The derision in its tone was all too apparent. “It was making me sick.”

  Brandon felt his anger rise again and tried to get a firm grip on it. He said. “You talk big for a man hiding in the shadows? Why don’t you come out here and say that to my face?”

  The voice laughed. “You wish to fight me, boy?”

  Brandon shrugged. “You don’t sound so tough. Come out here and we’ll see who ends up crying like a woman.” He couldn’t believe what he was saying. He had no idea what the guy looked like or even if it was a guy at all. It never actually said that it wasn’t the Curse. Only after the words left his lips did Brandon realize that he might have just signed his own death warrant. But the voice only laughed again. Then it said. “My name is Rag’na’Rok. What do I call you?”

  “Bran.” Brandon shifted his feet. He wanted to be ready in case he had to run, but he didn’t think that would happen. He said. “My friends call me Bran.”

  “I don’t have any friends. But if I did, I suppose they could call me Rok.” Rag’na’rok said. “Which do you wish to be, Brandon Merryweather? Rok’s friend? Or Rok’s foe?”

  “If I have a choice, I think I would prefer to be Rok’s friend.” Brandon said, taking a step toward the shadows. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know many things.” Rok said. “I know what you fear.”

  “Do you?” Brandon said. He took another step, putting him at the edge of the shadows. He tried to see the source of the voice, but all he could see was black. He tried not to imagine Sha’ha’Zel, waiting in the darkness with his swords drawn and ready. “And what do I fear?”

  “You fear what all men fear.” Rok said. “You fear death.”

  “Everybody fears death.”

  “Not everybody.” Rok said. “But you don’t fear death for yourself, Bran. You fear the death of the one that you love.”

  Brandon didn’t answer. He saw Claire’s face in his mind’s eye. Her smile and the way her single green eye lit up when she saw him looking at her. Taking another step, Brandon slipped into the shadows underneath the bridge.

  The air was colder underneath the bridge and Brandon shivered as a breath of air snaked across the back of his neck. He saw nothing of the underside of the bridge, it was so dark. Not the creek, so close that he could smell the fresh metallic odor of the water running near his bare feet. Nor the upper arch of the bridge, spanning over his head. He crouched to keep his head from brushing the stone above him. He could see the yard outside of the bridge’s shadow, as if looking at it from a long distance. The rocks under his feet were wet and cold, but not slimy. He stepped further into the darkness, letting his night vision adjust, and said. “Where are you?”

  “You wish to see me?” Rok said, his voice thoughtful. “It is no easy thing. I have not been seen by living eyes in some time. Longer than I care to remember.”

  “Is that what you fear?” Brandon said. “Being seen?”

  Rok chuckled. It was a low, almost menacing sound. “Perhaps I was waiting for the right person?”

  Suddenly, a light bloomed from somewhere in the darkness. It appeared to be floating above the water, a subtle green light that began to pulsate as Brandon watched it. Brandon’s mouth went dry. He stepped forward, his bare feet dipping into the creek, and reached for the light. The water was ice cold as it ran over his feet, tugging at his pant legs, and Brandon thought of Nina. Was she watching over him, even now?

  Reaching out, his hand inches from the source of the light, Brandon felt a low vibration building inside of his chest. Like a jet engine revving up. His fingers touched something hard and warm then the light extinguished itself. Brandon blinked, his night vision completely lost, and kept his fingers where they were when the light went off. There was something underneath his fingers. He traced the shape with his fingertip. It was a stone, set into the bridge’s underside.

  Brandon worked slowly, prying at the stone with his fingers until it came loose. It dropped into his palm and instantly lit up again, the green light enveloping him like a cloud. Brandon held it in his hand and stared down into the stone’s surface. If not for the light, the stone would have looked like any other river rock, polished smooth by the running water of the creek.

  Rok’s voice spoke again, this time from inside Brandon’s head. “You hold in the palm of your hand something that no mortal on this world has beheld in more than five thousand years.” As Rok spoke, the light from the stone began to pulsate in time with his voice. “Rag’na’Rok, the last God of the Mountain.”

  Brandon held the stone between his thumb and forefinger and said. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Brandon Merryweather, the last Son of Storms.” He wasn’t sure why he added that last part, but it felt right.

  Brandon went back into the house, carrying Rok in his fist. He moved as quietly as he could, getting back to his bedroom without seeing his uncle, and sat at his desk. Turning on his lamp, he got his first good look at his new friend.

  The stone was a deep dark green, polished as smooth as glass. There was a small carving etched into the surface. It looked like a rune of some kind. He placed the stone on his desk and stared at it. He said. “Are you there?”

  Rok’s voice spoke up inside of his head. “I’m always here, Bran.”

  Brandon nodded and said. “You’re not the first God I’ve met, you know?”

  Rok laughed and said. “And you’re not the first king that I’ve met. But you are the first one that I’ve allowed myself to be allied with. You should feel honored.”

  Brandon smiled. “I do.” He reached down to touch the stone with his finger. “Can I ask you something, Rok?”

  “Ask.” Rok sounded amused. Even inside Brandon’s head, the God’s voice was loud and nearly overpowering.

  “How do you see and hear what’s going on around you, being a rock?” Brandon asked.

  “I’m a god.” Rok said. “I see and hear everything. Even the things inside your head. I know that you are worried about Claire and whether or not you will have the strength to do what needs doing. I also know about Nin’e’Veh, the goddess that already serves you.”

  “You’re not jealous, are you?” Brandon asked, feeling more than a little crazy to be talking to a rock. And even crazier because the rock was talking back.

  Rok said. “I am not a jealous god. But I can be a wrathful one. You will be stronger with me on your side. Stronger than Nina, alone, can make you.”

  “And what do I have to do to get your help?” Brandon picked the stone up and held it in his palm. It felt warm against his skin. “Do I have to pray?”

  Rok laughed. “What do you think you’re doing now, boy?” The stone pulsated with light. “Prayer is just talking to your gods. Sometimes you ask for things, but mostly you just talk. Tell your god about your day. And ask for guidance when you’re not sure which direction you should be going.”

  Brandon thought he knew what Rok was talking about. “Does anybody still pray to you?”

  Rok’s voice was somber as he said. “There are some who remember the old gods. Worlds where the wheels of progress have yet to begin to turn. On these worlds, there are those that still speak to me. That seek solstice from the mountain.”

  “On other worlds?” Brandon said. “How many worlds are there?”

  “There are infinite worlds.” Rok said. “And all the gods exist in all the worlds, at the same time. We are stronger on some worlds than others. On some worlds, we are as dead.”

  “How do gods die?” Brandon thought of Nina’s words. “A god can be forgotten
. Can disappear in the ashes of history.” Rok said, his tone suddenly softer. Almost somber. “But as long as a single person believes, the god will live on. And if that one person can bring his god to others, can do great deeds in his god’s name, that god will gain strength.”

  “And if nobody is alive to believe in you?”

  Rok was silent for a moment, his glow diminishing slightly, then said. “Then I suppose I’d have to create somebody to believe in me.”

  Chapter 29

  The next morning, Brandon woke up from another dream about his grandfather. Only this time, his grandfather was speaking to him. In the dream, he and his grandfather sat in the center of the training circle. They sat cross legged, their knees touching. This was the first time he had seen his grandfather’s face. Every other dream, he had been riding around inside of the old man’s head.

  Brandon’s grandfather was a big man with a mass of long blondish red hair and a rust colored beard. He was dressed in a boiled leather jerkin and loose cotton pants. His arms were corded with thick muscles and crisscrossed with pale white scars. He had big powerful looking hands. He held the Phoenix, the blade laid across his knees. His eyes were dark gray; the gray of storm clouds. He was saying, as if continuing an old conversation. “Our family has always had a deep connection with the gods of old. Far deeper than that of the other Storm Lords.”

  “There are others?” Brandon asked, surprised by the sound of his own voice coming from his lips. He was himself; not hitchhiking in the mind of somebody else.

  The Storm King nodded and said. “There was a lord for each of the five limbs of nature and each lord worshiped his own deity. Nin’e’Veh is the goddess of the waters. She is our goddess.”

  “And the others? There is a god or goddess for each of them, as well?”

  His grandfather nodded. “Of course. Fal’d’Ifrit is the god of Fire. The Four Brothers; Soyto, Nicktos, Woros, and Elrod, are the gods of the winds. The gods of the Four Towers of Ginji and the Tower Knights.”