by C Lee Tocci
Todd, along with the other Ravens, knew that, for five years, Lilibit had been horribly tortured by a corrupt medical research institute and that when she had finally escaped, her mind had been as empty as her body was broken. As she healed, what emerged was a peculiar mishmash of awareness. With a bare six weeks of memories to draw from, she was sometimes as naive as a baby. Yet there were times when she betrayed knowledge, and sometimes even wisdom, that was almost unworldly in its depth.
Lilibit was a little bit of an enigma.
When she first started this recent obsession with books, Todd thought that she was just looking at the pictures but he soon realized that she really was reading, having made the jump from memorizing the letters to actual comprehension in a phenomenally short time. And she was quickly devouring every book that she got her hands on. He fought to feed his fading temper. He’d need every shred of his anger if he was ever going to make an impression on this, the smallest Raven.
“Why did you leave Quaybo class?” Todd was pleased that his voice didn’t crack and stayed low and deep. He was sure he sounded very authoritative.
“Quaybo is boring.” Lilibit was not intimidated. She sniffed as she walked over to the hearth and plopped herself into her favorite purple mushroom.
“Not today,” said Jeff. “You should have seen Nov’m beat the juice out of Todd.”
There may have been some scattered moments in Todd’s life that he might have thought that amusing.
This was not one of them.
When Todd’s glare did not scare the smirk off Jeff’s face, he advanced on him, figuring he’d wrestle out that insolence, but he was stopped short by a question from Lilibit.
“Why’d you let him?” she asked, most of her attention turned back into her book.
“What?”
“You can take Nov’m.” Her voice echoed her contempt for the Tiger chieftain. In her glance, Todd knew she was thinking about that terrifying night on the rock face of the Sienna Sentries where he fought and defeated the demon that almost murdered her. His quaybo staff had seemed possessed of its own will and had blasted the demon off the cliff; yet the idea of calling on that mysterious power to defend himself against another neophyte seemed excessive, almost criminal. He shook his head in answer to her question.
“Come on, guys,” interrupted Marla. “We’re going to be late for Smithing Class.”
Pulling the book from Lilibit’s hands, Todd grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the hogan. She huffed and sighed but only put up a token resistance despite the fact that she didn’t like the Silversmithing class anymore than Quaybo.
Todd, however, liked almost all his lessons. He had always been a poor to average student in the school they’d attended in Valley City, but here at Kiva, they never gave reading assignments, never made him write papers and there was no Algebra. Most of the training, like Quaybo and Silversmithing and Tracking were taught by showing and doing. The history and lore of Kiva were taught by listening to the tales of Gil-Salla and the other elders at the evening meal. After dinner, Star Reading was taught by lying on blankets under the night sky and listening to the ramblings of Rastor Skywatcher as he spoke to the stars as if they were old friends who chatted amongst themselves and took a mostly benevolent, if somewhat detached interest in the inhabitants of the Earth.
Despite Nov’m’s nasty plotting, Todd liked it here. He belonged here. He knew it. And he didn’t want Lilibit’s disobedience jeopardizing any part of it.
With Lilibit firmly in tow, they crossed the Crescent Courtyard to Wakawinappi, the hall of the Silversmiths.
Chapter Six
The Façade of Wakawinappi
Jeff trailed behind the others as they crossed the Crescent Courtyard to the Hall of Wakawinappi. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to smithing class; it was more that he was distracted by the dozen different schemes running through his head.
The fact that his lagging annoyed Todd was just a bonus.
The Crescent Courtyard fanned out from the main entrance of Gil-Salla’s hall. Sixteen buildings bordered the pavestones. The buildings were similar in that they were made of adobe and that their entrances faced Gil-Salla’s Hall of the Flame, yet, at the same time, they were as different as leaves in autumn. The Raven’s hogan was the plainest, a two-story, windowless bungalow with nothing but a colorful blanket draping the doorway. The other buildings were three or four stories and much more lavish. They ran the gambit of simple elegance to ornate splendor, and the most magnificent of all was the Hall of Wakawinappi.
The first time Jeff had seen the Silversmith Hall, he thought that it must be a temple, or the home of a great chief. Or, at the very least, an immensely important building.
Rising four stories high, the façade that faced the courtyard had tiers of balconies on every level. The railings on the balconies were intricately wrought webs of silverwork set with precious stones. The exterior walls were plated with silver and inset with glittering mosaics. A massive slab of turquoise, carved into an ornate fan, adorned the mantle over the entry arch.
His expectations soared the first time he passed through the archway, and he hadn’t bothered to hide his disappointment when he first saw the interior.
The entire inside of Wakawinappi was one vast chamber: rough hewn walls charred black from untold centuries of smoke, and while sunlight filtered vaguely through the openings in the walls, most of the light came from the glow of the blackened clay forges scattered throughout the room. Looking back over his shoulder, Jeff saw that the doors to the balconies, placed high into the walls, were reachable only by rough stairs or ladders. It was like opening a huge, brilliantly decorated birthday present, only to find socks inside.
Today, the Ravens trotted past the forges, responding to the nods and smiles from the artisans that toiled at their crucibles and anvils. Blasts of heat beat them in waves and the tang from burning piñon pine was heavy, almost intoxicating. They passed through blinding sunbeams, so bright in the smoky air that Jeff thought they might bounce off them.
By the time they arrived at the back of the hall where Hihomay worked and taught, the Timber Wolves were already seated, patiently waiting for the instruction to begin. Todd sighed as Hihomay shook his head disapprovingly, but it bounced off the armor of Jeff’s insolence almost unnoticed.
Gwil, chieftain of the Timber Wolves, aimed a smile at Marla, and while she did nothing to betray her awareness of the older boy, the nudge from Jeff, and the mocking kiss-kiss expression he directed to her drew a blush and a grimace. Jeff was rewarded with a sharp knuckle stabbed into his arm.
The Ravens took their places on the benches that surrounded Hihomay’s forge. As Hihomay spoke, he hammered rhythmically at a piece of silver. Years of experience had given him an unusual speech pattern. His words were timed to occur between the clanging of his tools. The result was a strange, metered monologue that would have odd pauses between words, sometimes between syllables. He began his lecture, almost mid-sentence, from where he had left off the previous day.
“…since we now … have taken the sil … ver from the rough … ore through the smel … ting process we … will now examine … the ingot which … is…”
Outside Kiva, a student raising his hand during a lecture would not normally be surprising. Apparently, however, within the hall of Wakawinappi, it was monumental. Todd cradled his forehead as all the neophytes, and all the craftsmen as well, turned to stare at Jeff’s upraised arm.
The dust in the air seemed noisy in the silence.
“Well?” Hihomay’s voice held no more tolerance for the interruption than did his glare.
“If we’re here to learn to be stone warriors, why do we have to learn silversmithing?” In his nervousness, Jeff’s voice sounded more insolent than he intended, yet there was no backing down.
If the silence had been heavy before, it was crushing now.
“When the Stone Voice rises,” Hihomay turned from the forge with a basilisk stare. “Those found
worthy will be granted stones of great power. The only ones that should handle a Stone of Power are the stone warrior to whom it was granted or the Stone Voice herself. Traditionally, Stones of Power are worn on a silver chain around the neck. Therefore, all stone warriors must learn the art of silversmithing because only they should set their own stone.”
“Devon can handle Lilibit’s stone,” Nita blurted out before anyone could stop her. She quailed as Hihomay’s eye turned on her.
“That is because her stone is not a true Stone of Power.” He paused before turning to the students, his voice ringing through the hall. “The stones you hold now, the ones that led you to Kiva, are not the same as the stones that will be granted when the Stone Voice rises.”
This roused Lilibit from her apathy. She raised her head to argue with the old man, fully prepared to defend her stone with every breath in her lungs, but Todd caught her eye and subtly brushed his fingers over his lips to silence her. They all knew what she was going to say: that if Lilibit’s stone wasn’t a true Stone of Power, than there couldn’t be any such thing. And, even though they had never talked about it, they all agreed that the events that occurred on their way to Kiva and the powers that they had received were things that they only discussed with each other when huddled around their hearth in the evening. They did not know whether Keotak-se had shared with the Elders what he knew of their adventures, but if he did, they too were keeping their own council.
“Why silver? Why not gold or platinum?” Jeff asked, drawing the attention away from the fuming Lilibit.
This question did not seem to annoy Hihomay as greatly as the previous one. He hobbled back to his forge and returned to his anvil work as he answered. “Silver is … the truest … of the metals... In the ancient … tongue, the word … for silver … ‘quidamay’ …is the same … as the word … for loyalty … or fidelity… It will … hold fast … to your stone … and is the … truest alloy … for channeling … the powers …. of the … Earth Stone … to you.”
A look from Todd was meant to stifle any additional questions from Jeff and it only worked because, despite racking his brain, Jeff couldn’t think of anything else to ask.
They had all taken their turns at the anvil, pounding the ingot into a flat sheet. Hihomay seemed surprised that Nita and Devon, as small as they were, had the strength to wield the hammer, but he shook his head in disapproval at Lilibit as she reluctantly tapped the ingot.
“Why so lame?” Jeff asked Lilibit as they left Wakawinappi after the lesson and meandered back to the Raven hogan.
Lilibit’s shrugged. She knew he was talking about her timid efforts at the anvil. “I don’t want to hit it. It hurts it.”
“What?” Jeff stopped, puzzled.
“You don’t have to hit it.” Lilibit walked backwards, facing him, as she explained. “You can just ask it instead.”
The others had made it to the hogan door, but at this, they all turned to stare at her.
“Come on, I’ll show you.” Lilibit grabbed Jeff’s hand and dragged him to the path that ran behind Gil-Salla’s hall. The rest of the Ravens followed.
Lilibit led Jeff to the roiling pool that formed at base of the waterfall that spilled from the summit of Mount Idiwan’a. With one hand in her pocket, she bent down and placed her other hand into the noisy current. She stood very still for a moment, her eyes focused on something that the others couldn’t see. Beneath their feet, they felt a faint trembling of the earth and when Lilibit straightened up, a smug smile was on her face.
“See?” she said looking down at her hand. There, in her dripping palm, lay a nugget of pure silver. Plopping to the ground, she sat cross-legged and began to massage the nugget with her fingertips. As they watched, the nugget began to transform, molding like a piece of shining clay into a delicate cord of glittering filigree, twirling into a fluid braid. She stood, and walking over to Marla, gestured for her to bend down. She draped the length around her neck and when she pressed the ends together, the cord fused leaving a lump where the tips met.
Her face intent on her labors, Lilibit didn’t look up as she gestured imperiously to Marla, her palm outstretched. With a glance towards Todd, Marla hesitantly removed Kwee-tay, the brilliant white crystal that she used to talk to Ulex, her friend from the Nether Rock. Lilibit snatched the stone from her hand and began to manipulate the lump of silver until it created an elegant web that clung to the stone, cradling it.
Stepping back, Lilibit grinned at her handiwork. “Like that!”
Jeff read the look that passed between Todd and Marla and knew that this was going on the list of things that they were not going to share with the rest of the residents of Kiva.
As the others wandered back to the hogan, Jeff stayed by the side of the pool. He ran his hand through the water and scooped up a wad of sand. He smiled as the wet grains poured through his fingers. An idea was forming.
Jeff had a plan.
Chapter Seven
The Quarry of the Timber Wolf
From the shadows of the balcony of Wakawinappi, Gwil watched as the Ravens crossed the Crescent Courtyard. He wore a black tunic over black leggings. With his dark skin and darker hair, he knew that he was nearly invisible in the gloom, hearing without being heard, seeing without being seen.
He had watched as the Ravens passed by their own hogan door, disappearing behind the Hall of the Flame. There was an aura around the Clan of the Raven that piqued his curiosity. And at its root, was his fascination with the mysterious Marla.
From his first glimpse, Gwil had been intrigued by Marla. Even though she was young, there was a grace and glow about her that made her seem older. He didn’t think she was aware of it, but he’d been watching her for weeks. Why did she so often get that faraway look in her eyes, as if she were listening to a voice that only she could hear? What did she clutch so tightly in her in her hand as her lips twitched in silent speech? And what caused her to break out in those joyous little grins and giggles when she was communing with her invisible confident? In Gwil’s mind, there was only one answer.
Marla must be the Infant Stone Voice.
Gwil smiled. How brilliant it would be if, despite Nov’m’s snobbery, the Stone Voice didn’t rise from Nov’m’s race, but from Gwil’s instead? It was vital that Gwil bring Marla into the Clan of the Timber Wolf as soon as possible, before anyone else recognized what he saw. But how?
Although he had not been nearly as angry as Nov’m about the turn of events on that morning when the Seven had first arrived at Kiva, he was still annoyed that they had managed to avoid being adopted into the existing clans. He might have joined with Nov’m in that futile argument had he realized at that time the truth about Marla, but now he had no other options. He had to lure Marla into the Clan of the Timber Wolf, even if it meant sabotaging the rest of the Ravens.
He watched motionlessly as the Seven wandered back onto the Crescent Courtyard and into their hogan. He would bide his time. The opportunity would arise and the Clan of the Timber Wolf would be ready.
Chapter Eight
Cohanna
Lilibit’s toes were leading her to yet another new place.
The best part of getting up before everyone else in the hogan was that she was out and exploring before anyone started looking for her.
Today she headed south from the crescent, past the adobe homes and crop fields, into the darkly wooded area called the Mort-Gre’el forest. Here, the trees were taller than any she’d ever seen or imagined. If she lay on her back, it looked like they were holding up the sky. She brushed them with her fingers as she walked past. They felt as old as the Earth Stone Herself.
The path was dark and gloomy. Very little sunlight found its way down to the trail. The branches creaked. Unseen shapes lurked and moaned in the shadows. Her footsteps muffled as she walked through the dry swamp of dead leaves. The only sounds she heard were the wind whining and the trees grumbling.
It was more than a little scary, but nothing bad had happene
d in the last three weeks and Lilibit had a very short memory about some things.
She broke off a piece of the cornbread that she had stuffed in her pockets. Lilibit had purposely wandered past the hearth of Leequa about an hour ago, knowing that the smiling old woman would push a loaf or two into her hands. She wiped the crumbs from her face and thrust through the vines that draped her path.
A lightening of the gloom was her first hint of the clearing up ahead. She pushed through the scrub and stopped to catch her breath, not from effort, but from wonder.
A ring of stone pillars marked a circle where nothing grew. Not a tree nor shrub nor even a scrap of moss dare grow within its boundaries. Fine silt scattered with gravel created a perfectly smooth floor. The urge to track her feet across its unmarred surface itched at her.
And yet it was the stones themselves that most fascinated Lilibit. They reminded her of the obelisk that had given her stone, Ewa-Kwan. Roughly rectangular, the pillars thrust up from the ground like crude fingers, guarding some secret. They hummed urgently, but Lilibit, though she could hear the songs of the stones, couldn’t make out their meaning.
She edged closer. The hairs on her arms buzzed in sync with the vibrations of the stones. At the most easterly point of the circle, an enormous stone was split in two. She made her way carefully around the outside, drawn to the song of the cleft stone. She reached out to touch it.
“Beware!” spoke a whispery voice. It was so faint and low, it might have been the wind speaking.
Lilibit looked around for the speaker. Not near nor far; not loud nor soft; she peered into the trees but saw no one.
