Into the Stone Land

by Robert Stanek

  He hated the still land. It was difficult to jump. It was impossible to feel. It was swathed in plants he didn’t recognize. The water in the channel moved too swiftly, nearly enough to pull his feet from under him. The only consolation: his brood seemed to have little trouble finding eats. The hatchlings navigated the swift waters with ease and found fish. The yearling and his mother enjoyed the tall grasses. In the same grasses and often near the wide scrub trees, the slither found a wealth of small, furry critters with long tails.

  “All going to get fat if this keeps up,” Tall said. He wanted to hear something other than the rush of wind and current, but it was more than that. Just as he could yearn, he was learning that they could too, in a way. As if in response the mare whinnied, the slither hissed, and several of the hatchlings slapped their tails in the water. “Really?” he exclaimed excitedly. It wasn’t the first time they’d communicated with him. They’d warned him several times the previous day when strange beasts were near. The big slither had eaten one of the beasts, tusks and all. It was why the slither preferred sunning to moving today.

  “Keep this up, and I’m going to have to name you all,” he said, adding with a laugh, “That’ll be a chore!”

  For a moment, there was only silence. Then one of the yearling’s eyes edged around a scrub tree. “You really want to be named?”

  The yearling tentatively stepped out. The mother followed. “You too?” Tall asked. He dug in his pack, broke dark root in pieces, and fed them the pieces.

  He was about to shoulder his pack when he realized the sun was close to setting. He made camp in a lea hidden between scrub trees and high rock walls, plunking his pack down under the biggest tree. To his surprise, his brood gathered around him even before he started to make a circle of stinging. The previous night they’d backed away, but now they stayed put.

  With his back to the tree and their close press, Tall felt closed in. The hatchlings were scrambling over each other to get closer. The yearling and mare pressed forward. The big slither, curled around the tree with its large, caped head hovering eerily beside him. But there was something in their eyes. Something.

  “Ahhh.” The sound came out of his mouth before he could stop it. “No buzzers or suckers here. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  He returned the stinging to his pack. The mare shook its head—her head, he corrected himself—snorting loudly. “I’ll name you, Lady,” He told the mare. “That’ll remind me.”

  The slither hissed. “You’re Hazard,” he said. In response, the slither lashed out with a long, forked tongue and wet the side of his face.

  To his surprise, the yearling pulled scatter bush pods from his back and dropped them in his lap. “You’re Lucky,” he told the yearling, reaching for the pods and realizing only then his legs were fading.

  Alarm. He crushed a pod in his hands, placed a small handful of seeds in his mouth, and began to chew. Immediately it was as if the seeds were actually stitching his soul back together, pulling him back from the other side.

  He gave a nervous giggle, stuffed another small handful of seeds in his mouth. The curtain between worlds pealed back, he saw the other world. The tethers. Their brilliant colors. Soon he was laughing because the release was so sweet.

  Laughter was still fixed to his expression as dawn arrived. He was statue still, his back to the scrub tree. A trail of dried vomit led from his chin to his lap. Dried blood etched lines from his nose and eyes. He awoke with a start, rubbed the side of his face. His hand came away with a fresh coat of ickiness.

  He noticed he hadn’t completed the circle of stinging the previous night. He didn’t remember much in truth. What he remembered was naming Lady, Lucky, and Hazard. His body wasn’t covered with welts or coated in suckers, though. In fact, he couldn’t recall seeing either in this strange, still place.

  He glanced up, looking for the bright orange ball of the sun. It was mostly hidden in the clouds.

  He stripped, bathed in the cold, swift waters. The hatchlings joined him, frolicking about as he shivered and rubbed gritty into his flesh. He was starting to see distinct personalities in them. Big Teeth was playful, always diving and surfacing and rolling about. Horn Eyes was irritable, always snipping at the others. Ever Hungry was protective, when he wasn’t stuffing his mouth with fish. Snub Nose was smaller than the rest, but the most mischievous. She’d steal fish from Horn Eyes. Sometimes she’d give one to Big Feet or Bent Snout; other times she’d eat the fish herself.

  Tall was dressing when he realized he had named most of the hatchlings. Or had he? He started to wonder about that as he gathered his belongings. It struck him as he shouldered his pack that he hadn’t actually thought up the names. The names had just come to him as he watched the hatchlings play.

  It seemed strange to name such wild things. And if they had names were they wild things? A wild bull was just a bull, a thing to be feared and respected. It wasn’t Big Feet or Snub Nose or Horn Eyes.

  It was strange, he decided, how wholeheartedly they trusted him and how the bonds kept creatures that otherwise were foes together. None had any misgivings about the others, and took no particular precautions. Needling him, at the very back of his mind, was the obvious. One day, somehow, he’d have to break the bonds. He knew this. No one could bond twelve full grown bulls. Trying to stay bonded was like to kill him as it was.

  Ever Hungry was watching Tall as he turned toward the channel. He switched his staff to his left hand and scratched the underside of Ever Hungry’s head. The bull undulated as Tall scratched. Then he and the others swept back into the channel. Each made a splash-down entry, then rolled and smacked a tail against the surface.

  A breakfast of scatter bush seeds was all Tall could bring himself to eat before he started walking. Hazard kept pace with him on his right. Lucky, on his left. He was just about to ask himself where Lady was when the mare made an appearance. She was well ahead, near an outcropping of rock. Tall couldn’t help thinking what a sight they’d make if someone saw them. Then the danger occurred to him. The smoot had talked about outtrader villages. What if he encountered those of the Out instead? The ones who came to theft the wet and kill for trophies. He realized it was a glum thought, but the day was dark, and getting darker.

  The rain began as a downpour and only worsened as the hours passed. Hazard loved this. Lady and Lucky, less so.

  Tall stopped, near what he thought was midday. Sheltered under a big tree to get out of the rain, he ate scatter bush seeds, crushed light and dark root in a shallow rock bowl. He added some wild greens that grew nearby, after seeing Lucky and Lady feed on them. The greens had a white, fleshy root that he thought might be edible, too, and he collected some to sample later.

  Lunch over, he started out. The rains still beat down on everything. That evening, he came upon a stone pathway. It was the first sure sign he was headed in the right direction. Also the first sure sign danger was close. Rather than stop, he decided to keep going. His brood seemed to agree with the decision, as did the heavens, for the rains, which had been slowing, stopped.

  Hazard, who had been beside Tall all afternoon, disappeared into the grasses. Tall didn’t know where the big slither was going, but soon felt the connection between them stretch thin.

  He dug in his pack for a pod. Noting the dwindling number, he split it in half, and poured a few seeds into his mouth. The seeds helped, giving him a keener sense of Hazard and the land.

  The night was dark. If not for the moon that peaked out every now and again, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his way. Not that the stone path was difficult to follow—rather that he opted to walk in the fields alongside it. Somehow, traveling the unknown seemed safer that way. Whether it actually was, that was another matter.

  Hazard wasn’t the only one who wanted space. Lady and Lucky slipped off as well. That left only the hatchlings, sloshing around in the channel, for company.

  Separation made Tall think. All of us can’t stay together, he thought.
But since the odds were against them anyway, he managed to ignore the thought.

  Besides, his thoughts were distracted by his latest idea about Ray and the smoot. Ray had always said his path was long. Talking with Ray about his dreams was what inspired Tall to draw pictures of mountains and wizards. No one in his village had even seen either, but Ray described them well enough for Tall to draw. It was a drawing of Ray climbing a mountain with the wizard towering over him that convinced the smoot it was time for Ray to begin his journey. If not for that, Ray would have been the last 12-winter boy to leave the village, and not the first. Was it fair, then, the guilt he felt? Keene’s death might as well have been his own, and yet he had to live, for Keene no longer could.

  But he was too exhausted to give it any more thought. His mind was getting a bit foggy from the seeds, and the warmth at his side told him Lucky had returned. The yearling liked to press his head against Tall’s shoulder. It gave them both a sense of security.

  He realized then how lonely he was feeling. How Lucky’s presence made him feel comfortable. Lucky’s gentle nudging also was guiding him back to the stone path. He didn’t realize this until the stones were under his feet. And being on the path ensured that he crossed the bridge into the village, rather than disappearing into the falling off that surrounded it.

  Chapter 8: A Matter of Focus

  The village was still and dark. There wasn’t even a watch fire to guide the way. Tall waited for the moon to show itself, but the clouds ensured otherwise, forcing him to pick his way with care. Only Lucky kept him true when he would have botched things. Thanks to Lucky he avoided kicking over a bucket, navigated around a turning bridge, and circled around an overturned pushcart.

  Near the village arbor, Lucky suddenly stood stock-still and refused to take another step. It was then he saw the man sleeping under the tree. Lucky nudged him back when he tried to take a step.

  “You’re late,” the man said, surprising Tall.

  “Late?” Tall asked.

  For a moment, there was no response. Then the man stood and beckoned Tall to follow. Tall took a tentative step forward. He wanted to trust the man. The man’s skin and hair, dark like his own, marked him as one of the Out. But his clothes were different. He had seen clothes stitched like that a few times before, but only on outsiders.

  Tall was just about to follow the man when he heard a shoe or paw drag across the earth. In one movement, he turned, bringing his staff up. There was no one there. No one he could see, anyway. Then he spotted the strange beast. It was mostly the eyes he saw in the pale light of the moon. He realized the beast had just jumped out of the tree and that this was the sound he had heard.

  Lucky moved between Tall and the beast, as if to say, “Don’t.” Irritated, Tall stepped around Lucky. He told himself wasn’t afraid of anything. He had his staff and his wits.

  “My Tag’Erh,” the man said, in a low voice. The man stroked Tag’Erh’s head and shaggy mane. The black tail silently sliced the air.

  “Quickly now,” the man said. A moment later, he opened a door. Light from a house spilled out.

  Normally Tall would have hesitated, but he felt Hazard strongly now. The slither was close. Lady too. Somehow Lucky knew this, for the yearling relaxed. The hatchlings, though, he barely felt them. He hadn’t really felt them since he entered the village.

  The man grabbed Tall by the ear and dragged him inside, closing the door to Lucky. Just as Tall said, “What’d you do that for?” The man said, “If I’d’ve wanted to, I’d’ve already killed you. Tag’Erh would’ve done it nicely, though not cleanly.”

  Tall winced. He pictured himself being shredded. Tag’Erh’s paws looked powerful. The claws inside looked deadly. He could hear them scraping the floor as Tag’Erh strutted back and forth.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said. “Just sharpening ’em. Likes how it feels.” Tall stared. The man’s movements were like his words, fluid and sharp. “Business doesn’t bring you, so out with it.”

  “Your accent. You speak my words. Are you a speaker by trade?”

  “Sit before you collapse.” Not waiting for a response, the man pushed Tall into a chair. He shook his head. “A speaker? Ha! I see the old one has barely prepared you.”

  “Old one?” Tall removed his pack. It settled to the floor with a heavy thunk. He glanced around. The house was small but clean. Other than the table and a few chairs there wasn’t much furniture. There was a kitchen, a fireplace. A stairs led up to what Tall assumed must be a loft.

  The man sighed. “Your smoot, boy.”

  “Not a boy,” Tall said, “A man. I’ve just journeyed from the place lost and deep. Bonded with my life’s mates and gone beyond.”

  “Bonded way too many if you ask me,” the man said plainly. “It’s unexpected. Never seen the likes of you. No, I haven’t, and you’re late. Many moons late.”

  Tall could almost hear the smoot groaning as this truth spilled out like the lamp light into the dark night. But he wanted the man to like him and didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because the man reminded him of his father, whom he missed.

  “Not your father, Ray,” the man said. “Pay attention now. You were to arrive moons ago.”

  “Oh,” Tall said with a sigh. The word slipped out before he could stop himself. The man thought he was Ray. He collected himself. “This is Wav’erh’n, Third Village?”

  “It is,” the man said. “But you’re not Ray, are you? So who are you?”

  “I’d have thought you’d have known who I was.”

  The man leaned across the table, wagging an accusing finger. “I’d be careful. Might be you’re in something and might be—” The man stopped mid-sentence, pushed himself back from the table as if stung.

  “I’m Tall, son of Dent the woodcrafter. Third Village, Nahterh’n,” Tall said quickly, afraid of what would happen next.

  “Haven’t been in Nahterh’n in an age.” The man shifted around the table, twisted Tall around as if trying to get a closer look. His mouth fell open as he looked down.

  “They’re gone again, aren’t they?” Tall said. He didn’t need to look down, he knew. His feet were gone, disappeared into the other place. He put his hands in his face and moaned just as Tag’Erh jumped up and pinned him to the table with his front paws. The man now knew the things the smoot seemed to not want anyone else to know. Tall would have cried, but the man started rifling through his pack, and this irritated him. “Take whatever you want. Not like I’ve a use for it if you’re going to kill me now.”

  “Ha!” the man said. He turned Tall’s pack upside down and dumped its contents onto the floor. Tall squirmed in his seat. Tag’Erh held him firmer. The man asked, “Where is it?”

  Tall struggled to turn his head so he could look at the man. “Where’s what?”

  Angry, the man kicked the pack goods across the floor. “You’ve all the signs of the addiction. Where is it?”

  “Signs? Addiction?”

  The man turned on Tall. His eyes were wild, full of longing. “The seeds, the seeds. I smell them on you, but I don’t see them.”

  Tall did his best to look confused. “I need help.”

  “Can’t fool me. I know. They’re here. Somewhere.”

  “I need help,” Tall repeated.

  The man suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing. He collected himself. At the snap of his fingers, Tag’Erh backed down. “Forgive me. Should be able to, but can’t always. Sometimes still it takes me. Like it will take you.”

  Relief was so sweet a nervous laugh escaped Tall’s lips. He was about to speak a thank you. There was a flash in the man’s eyes. Then the man almost begged, “Check your pockets. Not a one. Sure?”

  Tall tried to flee. Tag’Erh moved to stop him, but he was already stopping himself. He had run from the smoot because he was afraid. He was afraid now but not in the same way or for the same reasons. “Help me.” It was a final plea. “I was told to seek this village, and you expected me. Are we allies
or foes?”

  “Want me for an ally? Suppose you’ll be telling me that you’ll free me once you’ve the knowhow. Ha!” The man snorted. “Need to learn to pick and choose better. For all you know I’m in league with the wizard and it’s he who’s tethered me here.”

  Tall swallowed hard. “Are you in league with the wizard?”

  Thwack! The man slammed his open hand into the table. “Wouldn’t need to say it, if I was. Would I?”

  Tall blinked at the man, trying to decide.

  The man answered for him. “I wouldn’t. You’d be dead instead. Did your smoot teach you nothing?”

  Tall tried to speak.

  “Not meant for answering,” the man said. “Your problem is hastiness. If I’d’ve been hasty, I’d’ve left this place, and you’d’ve arrived to find nothing.

  Not what happened, is it? Your smoot bade me to wait each time the moon was just so. I did, though in truth I grew weary of it. But finally it is, and as much as I dared hope for.”

  Tall dared to hope too. He looked down at the place where his feet should be, but they were still gone.

  The man twisted Tall around in the chair. “A matter of focus. Already done the impossible. What only one other before has ever done. And I am he.”

  “Impossible.” It was a simple word. It escaped Tall’s lips before he could stop it. But it was an important word.

  “Possible,” the man said. “Very possible. Just as I know you know the smoot’s secret, I know this.”

  “The smoot has no secrets.”

  The man clapped his hands, and Tag’Erh curled at his feet. “Oh but he does, doesn’t he. You saw, couldn’t help but see, as I saw too. Maybe though, you’ll succeed where I failed. Tall, I’m Ehzrit. You must know of me.”

  “The only…” Tall’s voice trailed off. The only Ehzrit he knew of was long since dead.

  “Not dead, undead,” Ehzrit said. “I crossed over, managed to cross back, but this is what I am now. Undying, you could think of it as well. Blessing, curse. You decide. I have.”