Into the Stone Land

by Robert Stanek

  “Your pack,” Deanna said. “Best to keep it in front of you until you are out of the city.”

  She looked to the door anxiously and Tall knew it was time to go. He hugged her before he could stop himself. She hugged him back, then led him from the room, down a flight of stairs. Just before they left the cloister building, she told him, “Don’t speak out there. Remember, you are a rider. Best unseen, but if seen, unheard.”

  “Thank you for everything,” Tall said. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, planning to tell her it was for her luck, but she turned at the last moment and their lips met. Whether it was mistake or intention was something he would brood over later, especially during the long days ahead. For now, he picked up his pack and turned toward the door.

  “You’ll need this,” Deanna said.

  Tall turned back. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see his journey staff again, but there it was in Deanna’s hand.

  Chapter 11: Unnatural Yearning

  Lucky was in the stable. Tall ran to him, gripped the long neck and buried his face in horse flesh. “I missed you,” he whispered. Lucky arched his back and his soft eyes shone. He nibbled Tall’s sleeve with his lips and nuzzled at Tall’s shoulder. Tall rubbed the velvety nose and spoke softly of the days they’d been separated.

  He’d started to wonder if he’d ever see Lucky or the others again. It was strange that he felt their connection only when they touched. Stranger still that he felt nothing of the others, even under the light influence of the seeds he’d secreted from the pack.

  Deanna cleared her throat, reminding him of the urgency. Tall was pleased that Lucky seemed well fed and cared for, even more so when Lucky sent him feelings of contentment and happiness. He climbed onto Lucky’s back, shifting his pack and staff into place.

  He saw Deanna near the entrance as Lucky exited the stall and sauntered across the stable’s central causeway. She was carrying a basket of apples in one hand, wiping away tears with the other. He’d never thought of her as particularly pretty. She was too pale, too thin. Her hair, too yellow and straight. Her eyes, too large and blue.

  But she was pretty. She had an undeniable grace. Even the way she handled her tears made her more endearing. It made her seem open, vulnerable and yet resolved. Without doubt she was the most stouthearted person he’d ever met, and that trait made her beautiful.

  A difficult comparison to Ellie, but one he made. Ellie’s beauty was right there, bubbling on the surface. Her bright green eyes. Her long, curly hair always wrapping the perfect oval of her face. Her nose sized just so. Her cheek bones, high. She was lithe and sturdy. Years of hard work had shaped her true enough, but she was always more woman than girl. Men listened when she commanded. Even her father. Even when he was of a mood. Her tears were always private, as was her sadness. He’d seen both, but she’d never meant for anyone to see.

  “Tall,” Deanna hissed. Her face dead calm, her eyes wide, told him something was wrong.

  Tall looked down, saw he was brighter than the pale light from the dawning day. He was glowing, but didn’t know whether from his reflection or something else. He wasn’t reaching out with the yearning. Or was he? He was, he realized. Unintentionally, perhaps instinctively, he was trying to reach Lady, Hazard, and the hatchlings.

  He squelched the yearning, reached Deanna at the stable entrance. She was looking out into the quiet streets. “West gate,” she hissed. “Follow on a hundred count. Count slowly; go slowly. You’ll cross the lake bridge, and then the canal. One turn at the great circle of the sun, then straight to the gate. Remember what you wear, what you are.”

  Tall watched her depart. Though her soft footfalls were inaudible, he imagined he heard them as she disappeared down the cobbled street. He started counting, wondered if she really meant for him to wait a hundred counts. There was enough light to make the street seem a place of shadows.

  “Now,” he whispered to Lucky as he reached eighty. A few counts more or less shouldn’t matter; at least he didn’t think so.

  The sound of Lucky’s hooves echoed softly as they struck the stones. He kept Lucky to a steady walk. Or maybe Lucky did this on his own and Tall only thought he controlled the colt. He knew nothing of riding, only that it hurt. He felt Lucky’s every stride.

  It was a long way to the circle, and eventually the slow ride sucked away the urgency of the moment. Tall began to study the buildings that lined the street when he probably should have been paying closer attention to the road, to the doorways, to the alleys. Still, he’d never seen such stone monuments before. Well, that wasn’t true exactly. He’d seen the buildings on the furious race into Adalayia.

  Now, though, he had time to study how the red and black stones were laid one on top of the other in long rows, how windows and doors were framed in white stones, how each building had its own great door painted red or blue or black. Some of the buildings had signs. The signs had symbols but none that he recognized. Strangest of all was the stone that wasn’t stone. It kept out weather and beasts but let him see in as those inside could see out.

  He saw mostly shadows inside the buildings, but sometimes furniture or peculiar knitted sheets hanging on metal rods. How his mother would have loved such fine things to hang in the windows. But such fine things wouldn’t keep out buzzers. Only a well-tarred cloth fixed snugly could do that. Every door and window in his village was fitted with a tar cloth at night.

  The bridge across the lake was a wonder and Tall could only marvel at it. Eventually the steady spray of the great circle’s fountains concealed the echoes of Lucky’s hooves. Only the canal bridge was between him and the circle now. He was glad for this, but this feeling was fleeting, for his breath froze in his lungs as a shadow within the shadows moved. Then a voice called out, “Who goes there?” This was followed by: “State your business.”

  Tall’s heart leapt into his throat. He heard boots, saw a pale man in armor moving to block the canal bridge. The armored man held a long staff with a large blade attached at the top. Tall wanted to call the weapon a spear, but knew that wasn’t the right name. Whatever it was, it was a man killer.

  He dropped his shoulders, returned his gaze to the path ahead. He told himself, “I am a rider. Best unseen, but if seen, unheard.”

  Lucky continued toward the bridge. Not knowing what the armored man was doing terrified Tall. He sat rigidly, afraid to move. He dared not look, but he had to. He stole a glance, saw the armored man. Their eyes locked. Tall was certain the man would charge at him and strike out with that terrible weapon. But the man never did.

  Tall saw little of the great circle of the sun. He guided Lucky right at the first turning and saw the gate and the walls at once. The alarm sounding in his mind ensured his thoughts kept their focus, just as his eyes kept their focus on the path ahead. It helped calm the crazed beating of his heart.

  Ahead, near the gate, Tall saw the outline of two figures. One he thought must be Deanna, just now arriving. The other, a guard, clad much as the other had been. Tall’s cape had a thick collar. He turned it up so that it hid his face partly. He forced himself to take his breaths evenly, as he tried to work away the fear.

  A bull could tear a man to shreds. A slither could wrap and crush. A deep wading could swallow. These were dangers he knew, and every one more deadly than a guard at a gate. But just in case, he gripped his staff firmly and prepared to strike, plotting blows that could be landed around the plates of the armor. These plates, not unlike those of a bull or slither, had weak points where they connected. There was a reason one struck a bull in the snout and behind the head. These were the least armored and most sensitive. A blow to either was sure to get the bull’s attention. So how to get a plated man’s attention?

  The closer Tall approached, the more he saw. Deanna put her basket down, hugged the guard. It was quick, impulsive, and it surprised. Into the surprise, Deanna offered the gift of her apples. Tall studied the guard’s movements. Deanna ate an apple as well. The two talked. Tall didn’t know
of what.

  He was back to studying the armor’s weaknesses. The chin and back of the neck were exposed; so were the arms, elbows, and hands. The back of the knee, the thigh, the groin too. In fact, the more he studied this armor, the more he realized how little of use it was. It protected the torso and the head, but little else. Such might work well against angry blades. He didn’t know. What he did know was such wouldn’t work well against his staff, if he could land blows past the long reach of the poled blade. A blow from that could sever limbs, he didn’t doubt.

  He was sure Deanna heard his approach now, but she didn’t betray that she did. If anything her voice grew louder while her banter got more friendly. It made Tall angry, jealous. He didn’t know why, but it did, especially the way the guard looked at her. “May the Great Father of the Heavens help this one if I strike,” Tall muttered under his breath, quietly adding, “For nothing else under the heavens will.”

  This kind of anger, this kind of quiet rage, was new to Tall. He neither understood it nor could he rid himself of it. He’d asked Deanna to go with him, but she’d said nothing, changing the subject instead. Was this guard the reason? Did she love him? Did he love her? And if so, thinking this, could Tall strike the man if needed?

  As if suddenly noticing his approach, Deanna turned her head, called out, “A messenger. Make way for the messenger.” She stepped forward into the guard.

  The press of her body forced the guard to take several steps backward. Tall saw Deanna grab at the guard as she stumbled. The guard had to drop his weapon to catch Deanna and keep her from falling. Deanna called out as she stood, “Open the gates for the messenger.”

  The guard and Deanna exchanged the strangest look. Perhaps in that tangled moment heartbeats ago Deanna had kissed his cheek as she had Tall’s. Whatever happened, the guard was stunned speechless, until at Deanna’s prodding, he turned his head and shouted, “Messenger leaving the city! Open the gates at once!”

  Tall risked a glance at Deanna as he passed her. His heart felt like it would break, but that was fleeting, for he was racing through the gate, unexpectedly leaving the city much as he had entered. Lucky slowed from a gallop to a canter only when they were well away from the city’s walls. Tall was sure Lucky was nearly exhausted by that time, but Lucky showed no signs of it.

  The road out of the city was wide, packed earth. If it rained in this area as it rained to the south, the road showed little of it. Tall’s thoughts spun. The image of Deanna looking up at him as he passed stuck in his mind. Her smirk said it all. She had acted purposefully. His reaction to her selflessness had been jealousy. What did this say about him? Did it say that one could be named a man and yet not really be a man? Or that a man was as subject to whimsy as a child?

  Perhaps not truly being a man was why he must continue his journey. Perhaps to truly be a man he must find Ray and return with him to the village. But finding Ray and returning would not be easy. The world beyond his beloved Inland was so much bigger than he’d ever imaged. It truly was, and the endless dusty expanse of mostly barren land all around him proved this. In truth, he had no idea how to find Ray, but he knew one thing and it was this: he hated the stone land. It was an unnatural place. It was an ugly place. Nothing but stunted trees and blighted grasses.

  He was so busy seething he forgot to be thankful and there was a lot to be thankful for. He was safely out of the city. He was reunited with Lucky. He was back on the path to finding Ray. But where was he, exactly? What little he knew of the world beyond Adalayia came from Deanna. She had told him of the places beyond, if only he could remember.

  Tall guided Lucky to a stand of trees before dismounting. He hugged the horse’s neck. “I missed you fiercely,” he said. “I couldn’t feel you. I was so alone, only Deanna for company. Where are the others, I wonder. I miss them too. Seems so long since I’ve felt them.”

  But even as he said this, he knew the error of his words. He did feel the others. They were north. They were there even if the connections were the barest and thinnest they could possibly be and still exist. He reached out to them with the yearning. As he did so, he realized something else. Something in the city had kept him from feeling the connections and that same something had been working to undo the connections. It was a frightening thought because a complete unnatural breaking of the connections also might have undone him.

  Then it struck him—the wizard’s hand was in this. There could be no doubt. Only the wizard had such power. This realization brought more questions than answers. But one question rose above all the others. Had the wizard turned him west when he should have gone north? And if so, was any of it real? Deanna being forced to do something against her will might explain all the tears. It might explain a lot of things.

  He was walking to the tree to retrieve his pack when he felt the thing in his pocket. He reached in, unsure what he would find, felt the cold, round stone. He withdrew it, knowing at once it was the healing orb Deanna had taken from Healer Holt. But there was something else in his pocket: a folded paper. It had the same strange symbols as the signs in the city.

  Chapter 12: Into the Unknown

  At the edge of the city, Tall turned to survey the land. It was early in the day, but the travelers and patrols he expected were nowhere to be seen. The north road out of the city continued straight and true into the distance. He saw no roads or paths leading from it.

  He continued running, moving alongside Lucky as the horse trotted. With each bounding step it felt as if his feet rooted in the earth before springing out, and it allowed him to move with speed he was unaccustomed to. He found he had to work at times to slow himself to a steady pace.

  Lucky easily handled the weight of his pack and staff. For the next few hours he alternated between a jog and a run. He could go a long time. He knew that from his days roving his beloved Inland. Still, he didn’t want to tire himself out, and he would need water soon. It would be a long day. He wanted to be as far away from the city as possible before nightfall.

  The land began to change and the stunted trees and blighted grasses gave way to patches of bushy, green trees. Some of the trees had red or green orbs that seemed similar to Deanna’s apples. Tall slowed to a walk, looked for signs that what he saw was edible. At one point, he heard a noise and retrieved his staff, thinking he might have to defend himself.

  Deanna’s apples had been good and juicy, though sweet. These were juicy too, he knew, having halved and sniffed one as he looked for animal sign. Since animals ate these, they likely were safe. It was true in the Inland, and it must hold true in the Outland.

  His tongue disliked the fruit at first, but the tangy juice satisfied his thirst. He gathered some for his pack and shared others with Lucky as he waited out the heat of the day. He had a tidy pile by the time he opened his pack and discovered the foodstuffs from Deanna. His first thought was she’d replaced his roots; it made him so angry he upended his pack onto the ground. That was when he saw she’d cleaned and bundled the roots almost as well as his mother would have done for winter storage.

  “It’s time,” Tall told Lucky. He slipped a half pod, full of seeds, into his mouth as the two started out at a jog. His brood was closer. He felt them, but there was something strange about how distant they remained. It was as if they were separated from him by unseen voids.

  The ground sloped up. He didn’t like this. He wanted to be low, like in his lowland home, where his enemies couldn’t see him from a distance. He had no choice but to keep going.

  Trekking through the hills made him think of the wizard’s mountain. In his paintings he’d always drawn Ray and the wizard battling on the mountain, but now he saw himself added to those frozen moments. It was almost as if he’d drawn himself into the scenes—and perhaps he had by living when he should have died.

  It was late afternoon by the time his angular path intersected with the north road. Adalayia was a dot in the distance behind him. In the shadow of a thicket, he paused, panting as he looked to Lucky. His
pack and staff weren’t that heavy, but carrying them all day must have been tiring because Lucky looked tired and his leg muscles glistened with sweat. The day was proving to be a hot one. He fed Lucky fruit and roots. He ate the same, added pod seeds, while he surveyed the road.

  The road was deserted, as it had been since morning. Something wasn’t right about that. Deanna said guards fought over north gate postings. That it was prestigious. But what prestige was there in watching a deserted road?

  He crossed the road with Lucky, headed directly east for a time. There was a dip ahead that he thought might hide a water flow.

  His fingers scraped at his ribs. The pain was gone, mostly. The healing orb, from his pocket, turned in his hand as he studied it. He wondered about Deanna. Had Healer Holt discovered what she’d done? Had Lady Hravic given her another reminding?

  All of a sudden, he was overwhelmed by the thought that Deanna had received more than a reminding, that she’d been beaten to death. Her death, in his mind, became real. He saw her white, being put into a wooden box. No longer here. He tried hard to remember her alive, but he couldn’t. All he could see was her death.

  Maybe it was better if she were gone. They’d have to find someone else to give their reminding to, then. People like that always did, he knew. Old Rud had been like that, until the council drove him out of the village and left him where he could never hurt anyone again.

  No, not her, Tall told himself. He forced himself to think of her as living. He painted over the canvas of her death in his mind, inserted a picture of her very much alive, breathing and laughing and playfully dancing. No doubt it was the seed taking over, but he couldn’t help it, no more than he could now separate the real from the unreal.

  As he ran faster and faster, he had an awful thought. The void ahead. The one he thought must hide a water flow. What if it was dry? That would almost guarantee his own death. He had never been so long without water. The juice of the fruit helped, but what his dry throat needed was water. He didn’t doubt that Lucky needed water as well.