Neophytes of the Stone

by C Lee Tocci

  NEOPHYTES

  OF THE STONE

  By C. Lee Tocci

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 Cynthia Tocci

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-09786530-8-8

  LCCN: Pending

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One The Delinquent Raven

  Chapter Two The Implacable Foe

  Chapter Three The Claws of the Tiger

  Chapter Four Raven Rising

  Chapter Five Raven’s Nest

  Chapter Six The Façade of Wakawinappi

  Chapter Seven The Quarry of the Timber Wolf

  Chapter Eight Cohanna

  Chapter Nine Quaybo

  Chapter Ten The Gifts of the Skywatcher

  Chapter Eleven The Reckoning

  Chapter Twelve The Scheme of the Trickster

  Chapter Thirteen The Assayer of Lies

  Chapter Fourteen Enter the Listener

  Chapter Fifteen The Voices of the Wordless

  Chapter Sixteen The Legend of Witanya

  Chapter Seventeen Trickster’s Bluff

  Chapter Eighteen Trouble

  Chapter Nineteen Breach

  Chapter Twenty Alamos Tierra

  Chapter Twenty-One The Kingdom of Endrune

  Chapter Twenty-Two Truants

  Chapter Twenty-Three The Aroma of a Rat

  Chapter Twenty-Four Swoop

  Chapter Twenty-Five The Will of The Stones

  Chapter Twenty-Six Twenty Pieces of Silver

  Chapter Twenty-Seven As the Bird Flies

  Chapter Twenty-Eight Cabal

  Chapter Twenty-Nine Faunamorph

  Chapter Thirty Nov’m Plays His Card

  Chapter Thirty-One Old Marigold

  Chapter Thirty-Two Stupid Nov’m

  Chapter Thirty-Three Tattletales

  Chapter Thirty-Four A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

  Chapter Thirty-Five The Flight of the Hummingbird

  Chapter Thirty-Six Uncle Duke

  Chapter Thirty-Seven Missing

  Chapter Thirty-Eight Pursuit

  Chapter Thirty-Nine The Color of Fear

  Chapter Forty Covert Operations

  Chapter Forty-One The Chasm of the Scorpion

  Chapter Forty-Two The Compound

  Chapter Forty-Three Hospitality

  Chapter Forty-Four Turncoat

  Chapter Forty-Five Choices

  Chapter Forty-Six Death Toll

  Chapter Forty-Seven By The Skin Of Their Teeth

  Chapter Forty-Eight Forbidden Refuge

  Chapter Forty-Nine The Wicked Woods

  Chapter Fifty Out of the Frying Pan

  Chapter Fifty-One One With the Stone

  Chapter Fifty-Two Stone Voice Balking

  Excerpts from the Annals of Quapan

  Chronicles of the Fading Age

  As recorded by Hildoo, Keeper of the Archives of Kiva

  Twilight sets on this, the Sixth Age of Quapan and hopes for the dawn of a fresh era grow dim.

  Ten centuries have passed since the seduction of the fallen Stone Voice, Korap.

  The voice of the Earth Stone is muted.

  Her vision, blinded.

  Her soul, quarantined.

  Her Song, silenced.

  To the heedless eyes of Mankind, Her demise passes slowly, but to the Attentive Universe, Her pending death is both swift and unrelenting.

  Only the rise of a new Stone Voice can turn this failing ebb.

  For decades uncounted, fledgling Stone Voices have appeared, only to be assassinated in their infancy by the tainted Stone Warriors of Korap, or by the minions of the evil Syxx.

  Yet know this: Deep within the Valley of Kiva, still stands

  the Tower of Quapan,

  the Throne of Magtori,

  and the Ice Stone, Otwega.

  There also hide the Final Faithful: those People of the Land who still hold true to the lost ways and retain the ancient knowledge of the Earth Stone.

  Led by the Flame Voice, Gil-Salla, these peoples have kept true the Sanctuary of Kiva.

  And they pray steadfastly for the Rise of a new Stone Voice:

  A child who can hear the Voice of the Earth Stone.

  A child who will grow to be both the Leader of the People and the Servant of the Stone.

  A child strong.

  A child wise.

  A child brave.

  A child obedient to the Voice of the Stone.

  The Stars speak.

  The People hear.

  An Infant Stone Voice rises.

  An army of Neophytes are called.

  Brave Youth answer the call of the Stone, leaving their homes to journey to Kiva.

  They rejoice in their calling: to become Stone Warriors,

  To serve the Earth Stone,

  And to protect the Infant Stone Voice.

  Yet even within the Sanctuary of Kiva, can such a child be kept safe from those Forces of Evil that plot to destroy her?

  Chapter One

  The Delinquent Raven

  Lilibit held her breath as she squeezed into the crevice, her back pressed against the cliff face, her body hidden in the dark of the cleft. Beneath her, the shadow of a bird slid across the floor of the Valley. Peeking up, she watched the crow as it sailed the updrafts above the cliffs.

  Day and night, the Knowing Crows, along with The Others Who Watch and Wait, patrolled the Sienna Sentries, those rock palisades that guard the Valley of Kiva. Yet Lilibit knew they weren’t interested in what the neophytes did; they were only worried about Outsiders.

  She peeked out from the crack; the crow was a fleck in the distance. With a gurgle of triumph, she skidded down the slope, noisy rockslides rolling before her, plumes of dust spraying up behind her.

  Lilibit?

  Stones didn’t really use words when they spoke. It was more like images and awareness and a special secret knowledge that they shared. Yet the voice of the Earth Stone came closest to the spoken word. Her thoughts were so clear that they buzzed through Lilibit’s bare feet like a bellow in her ear.

  Lilibit…

  Try as she would, Lilibit could not ignore that voice. She skipped to a halt and dropped to her haunches, her hands splayed on the rocky ground.

  Lilibit, what are you up to?

  “I’m escaping!” Lilibit’s voice rang out proudly and echoed off the saguaros that clung to the hillside.

  And what are you escaping from? The voice of the Earth Stone sounded amused.

  “Quaybo class!” Lilibit declared.

  Lilibit… The voice of the Earth Stone held a gentle reproof, but Lilibit was not listening. Defiantly, she pulled her palms from the ground and scurried down the side of the mesa.

  Above her, high atop a barren plateau, sat the Quaybo field. Below her lay the ancient adobe buildings that huddled around the Crescent Courtyard, the hub of the Valley of Kiva. There, among those buildings, was the Raven’s hogan. She scurried to reach the safety of her den.

  Lilibit hated Quaybo class.

  Chapter Two

  The Implacable Foe

  Todd saw the staff barreling towards him. He spun quickly, sweeping his own stick upward to block, but he wasn’t quick enough. Even though he managed to partially deflect it, the shaft still grazed his head with a vicious swipe and sent him hurling to the ground, stunned.

  He spun around as his attacker raised his stick again and aimed a second blow to his head. Twisting on the dirt, Todd felt, rather than saw t
he staff strike the ground, barely missing his twitching body. He rolled to his feet, his staff gripped tightly in his hands, his head still swimming from the blow.

  “Enough.” Keotak-se’s voice denied defiance. Nov’m raised his stick to the vertical at-rest position, a smirk on his face.

  Keotak-se looked at Todd expressionlessly. Tall and powerful, the muscles of Keotak-se’s legs and chest striped shadows against his brown leather leggings and tan suede tunic. With the forest green mantle that hung from his shoulders, you could see how the Stone Warrior did look a little like a “Tree,” the nickname that Lilibit had given him.

  Rubbing his bruised head, Todd thought that the command came more than a few minutes late. This was their first sparring lesson of Quaybo, the traditional stone warrior art of staff dueling. Of all the instruction that filled their days, this was the only training they had with Keotak-se. Todd had hoped that with his prior experience with him he might receive, if not a little partiality, a least some small acknowledgement.

  No such luck.

  From the very first class, Keotak-se had never revealed, by word or expression, that he even recognized Todd from their journey to Kiva.

  Todd was determined to show to Keotak-se the same stony face that he was being given, but he wasn’t very successful. Marla kept asking him what he was scowling about and Lilibit suggested that he stop eating so much cornbread, mistaking his anger for indigestion.

  So far, their Quaybo classes had consisted of technique and history. Keotak-se had barely mentioned the powers that Todd knew from experience the quaybo staff could wield. All Keotak-se had said was “when the new Stone Voice rises there will be additional attributes that your quaybo may hold.”

  Keotak-se was a master of understatement as well as Quaybo.

  It was obvious from the way Nov’m handled his staff that he was already familiar with Quaybo. Since he had managed to look both bored and smug as he sliced the air with his staff, Todd had been understandably anxious when he heard Keotak-se pair him up with the older boy. At fifteen, Nov’m was two years older than Todd and several inches taller.

  And, in the three weeks since they first arrived at Kiva, Nov’m hadn’t bothered to hide the fact that he wanted Todd dead.

  Chapter Three

  The Claws of the Tiger

  The world was changing, the power was shifting and Nov’m was ready.

  For eons, the Valley of Kiva lay hidden from the outside, guarded by the Four Mountains and shielded by the Sienna Sentries, those red stone cliffs that stood shoulder to shoulder, concealing the secrets within.

  Now, after all these centuries, its destiny was near. A new Stone Voice was rising and with it, a new generation of stone warriors.

  And although Nov’m was only fifteen, he knew that it was his destiny to lead them.

  But on that first morning, three weeks ago, when the Seven first arrived at Kiva, Nov’m recognized Todd and his followers as a true threat to his plans.

  The People of the Valley had been abuzz that night. No one had bothered to alert the neophytes, but they were awake too, gathered in the Crescent Courtyard and mumbling to each other.

  The night air was thick and muggy and pre-dawn mists rolled between the adobe buildings that lined the courtyard. In the west, above the palisades, eerie lights sliced a strange slimy murk that hung in the pitch-black sky.

  Nov’m did not know what was happening on top of the Sienna Sentries. And he didn’t like not knowing. Knowledge was power and if he was to maintain his dominance among the neophytes, it was imperative he know everything … or at least maintain the illusion among the others that he knew everything. He waved away a question from one of his clansmen; avoiding answering by looking intently at the sky and nodding sagely.

  Then the earth began to quake, frightening the other neophytes into a panicked muttering. It drew the Flame Voice, Gil-Salla, to the door of her hall. She stood staring at the sky above Red Rabbit Ridge, her expression revealing nothing. Nov’m edged closer to her and mimicked her posture, hoping that by doing so, the others would think that he was as powerful and omniscient as the old woman.

  The turmoil above the Sienna Sentries subsided and the skies began to lighten. Some of the neophytes started to meander sleepily back to their hogan towers, but the sound of a booming voice stopped them.

  “NEOPHYTES ARRIVING! PREPARE FOR THE PLEDGES OF THE STONE!”

  Nov’m grimaced as he covered his ears. The Thunderbird didn’t speak often, but when it did, it wasn’t quietly. He stared greedily at the carved wooden totem pole that stood outside of the Hall of the Flame Voice. To him, it was a symbol of all the old power that would soon be restored to his people when the Stone Voice rose. Outside the valley, totem poles were just decoration, wooden carvings that decayed and disappeared as quickly as the status of the people that made them. But here, within Kiva, the old magic still ruled.

  While the sleeping bear at the bottom of the totem rarely moved, except to snore or snort, and the thunderbird at the top spent most of its time just posing heroically, the owl in the middle was always alert. Her eyes moved day and night. She not only saw all that happened here on the Crescent Courtyard, she could also see what happened near every totem pole across the land that had the owl carving. The totems served the Flame Voice now, but once they had served the Stone Voice.

  And the Stone Warriors.

  The day was coming when all the old powers would be restored and the Stone Warriors would once again yield that power.

  And Nov’m would control it all.

  Nov’m wasn’t about to let anything disrupt his plans; certainly not a straggling band of pledges that arrived a week or two after all the others.

  A flicker of movement on the western horizon caught his eye. The tall silhouette of the Stone Warrior, Keotak-se appeared at the crest of Red Rabbit Ridge, followed by the smaller figures of The Seven.

  The Seven is what they had been called from that first day. No one remembered who gave them that title, but Nov’m had no problem drawing the credit to himself.

  By the time the Keotak-se had led The Seven to the Crescent Courtyard, all the neophytes and most of the People of the Valley crowded the paving stones, staring expectantly.

  Keotak-se said nothing as he stood before Gil-Salla, yet there was a sense of tension sparking the air between them.

  It was said that Keotak-se was old, perhaps centuries old, but there was nothing elderly about him; his bronzed face seemed more weathered by battles than by years. He was tall, well over six feet, and his hair hung down his back in a long black braid. His leggings and tunic were tan leather. Only his forest green cape gave him color. His staff tapped lightly on the cobblestones as he gave Gil-Salla a faint nod.

  Gil-Salla too, was said to be as old as the mountains, yet only the silver streaks running through her braids gave even the least clue to her years. Little could be read in her face as she met Keotak-se’s gaze, but Nov’m thought he detected the faint hint of triumph in the tilt of her head. Something was up. He studied the new arrivals carefully, wondering silently if one of these could be the Infant Stone Voice.

  There didn’t seem to be anything very special about these children. It’s true that they were unusually tattered and grubby, but most of the pledges that managed to find their way into the Valley of Kiva were dirty and exhausted by the time they made their way over the Palisades.

  Yet these Seven were exceptionally tattered. Their clothes were filthy, ripped and bloodstained. Their arms and faces were cut and windburned. Whatever tempest had raged above the Sienna Sentries, the Seven must have passed through it.

  Todd was the name of their leader; he’d heard one of the others call him that. A thin, dark haired boy with watchful eyes, he looked to be around thirteen years old. He carried a long walking stick. He held it warily, almost like a quaybo staff, but Nov’m could see he had no skill. With a sniff, he turned to examine the other boys.

  The tallest of the boys, Donny, was blond and
pale with a dull face and dim eyes. Nov’m discounted him immediately. He might be big, but it was obvious that he was as slow in thought as he was in movement. Disgusted, Nov’m quickly passed over him to the next boy.

  Jeff, a red-headed boy with freckles, surveyed the courtyard with a cunning gleam in his eyes. Jeff did not flinch when he met Nov’m’s eyes, rather he let out a faint snort of contempt and continued to inspect the adobe buildings that lined the Crescent Courtyard.

  The smallest boy, Devon, had straight brown hair and large grey wistful eyes. Too young for Kiva, thought Nov’m. He looked to be about eight years old. Nov’m turned away from the boys and inspected the three girl pledges.

  Traditionally, the Stone Voice was female. Of course, there had been those rare instances of male Stone Voices, but that was so unusual that Nov’m suspected that if the Infant Stone Voice was among the Seven, she would be one of these three.

  The tallest and the smallest he discounted immediately. Marla was the tallest of the three girls, even though she looked only twelve years old. But she was black and as far back as their history recounted, the Stone Voice had always been born of the People of the Land, never the pale Europeans nor the dark Africans.

  And it certainly wasn’t the smallest one; that ratty-looking girl with those odd slanted eyes and the even stranger name. Lilibit. Nov’m looked at her and sneered. She was filthy, her face smudged with dirt and blood, her black hair matted. Nov’m turned his attention from her and focused on the middle girl.

  A pretty girl, too young perhaps, maybe eight years old, but at least she appeared to be of the People. And if she was the Infant Stone Voice, then it was imperative she belong to his clan, the Clan of Tiger, not the Clan of the Timber Wolf, and certainly not the Clan of the Rabbit. And the tall dark boy, Todd, was one of the People too. Despite the bold look on his face when their eyes met, Nov’m decided to call him into the Clan of the Tiger as well. Once firmly tied to his clan, he knew he could break that insolence.