The Cradle of the Gods (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 1)

by Thomas Quinn Miller

  “Ghile, you should have seen the cities and temples we built in his name. Great libraries filled with books.” Adon saw the look of confusion on Ghile's face at the mention of books. “Tablets like the dwarves use to save words. Words for others to say later.”

  “I saw some dreamings of those cities, Ghile. They were incredible. Some of the dreamers were great priests of Haurtu and I learned many things from them. We are not a cursed race, Ghile. We are being punished by the dwarves because we were created by Haurtu and the other gods were jealous of his ambition.

  “If he was right and Allwyn wanted her children, I mean, her creations to consume one another and join her, why did she create so many of them in the first place?” Ghile thought he had made a fine point and leaned back to see how Adon would answer it.

  If Adon was bothered, he didn't show it. “It all makes sense, Ghile. Look at Allwyn. The creatures that live on her. Everything struggles to survive. Everything learns to grow and become stronger or is destroyed and consumed by those who do. If this is the way of things in the great All Mother's dreaming, then one would think that was the way she would do it. The way she would find her equal?”

  Ghile thought about it and could understand what Adon meant, maybe even agreed with him a little. But he just couldn't get the image out of his mind of those big smacking lips.

  19

  Journey to Lakeside

  The warmer summer winds from the lowlands pushed into Upper Vale, heralding the short summer's arrival. The days were at their longest and the residents of Last Hamlet took advantage of the extra light. The snow could still be seen on the uppermost peaks and the top of the Horn, but the grasses down in the valley were lush and green.

  Last Hamlet was a bustle of activity in preparation for the annual journey down to Lakeside. Ox drawn carts were loaded with the prepared fleeces ready for market and the annual tithing to the dwarves. Those who couldn't make the journey on foot rode on the carts among the fleece, the young ones waving up at them as they played amongst the carts.

  The handful of boys of age to take the test of manhood ran races and fought mock battles against each other, boasting how well they were going to do. No one mentioned the dwarf's Rite of Attrition that always occurred after the tests. It was a known risk all took. Other than Adon, there had been only three other humans culled as long as anyone could remember. Some felt it was a small price to pay considering it was what kept the dwarves from exterminating humans completely.

  The last few weeks had passed quickly for Ghile since he had awoken from his experience in the ruins. Both Almoriz and Riff had ignored his father's request to leave Last Hamlet, and even now Riff was fastening the last of his sacks on their mule.

  Almoriz sat on the ground nearby, smoking his pipe and watching the young with the fascination and patience the elderly always seem to have for them. He looked at Ghile and Ghile hurriedly looked away, turning back to his father's cart and acting as if he were checking the goods were secured.

  The sorcerer and his apprentice had both been acting different since the ruins. Ghile did not understand why Riff refused to admit where he had found him and even when he caught Riff alone one night a couple weeks back, he insisted he hadn't seen a statue. Ghile had tried to return to the ruins again, but between Riff, Almoriz, his father and his mother, he had not been left alone long enough to slip away. His father had filled any free time he would have normally enjoyed in the summer with training in both spear and shield, making him run up and down the Vale, and collecting stones and moving them to the pasture walls without the use of the cart. All this to improve his strength and prepare him for his tests.

  Gar and Bralf had avoided him since the ruins. Ghile figured they feared he would tell Ecrec about their involvement in his son being found unconscious in the forbidden ruins. He finally had to admit to having fallen in the dark and hit his head, even though anyone who had seen him while he slept knew his head was not hurt.

  The alternative was to say he passed out from fright at becoming lost and that did not appeal to him at all. The teasing he had grown up with concerning his clumsiness and height were bad enough, but he had grown used to it. He even had to admit the bullying he suffered at the hands of Gar and Bralf didn't stop him from looking back at his young life with fondness.

  He knew when he returned home, he would return a man and his childhood would be behind him. He would be a man. Free to marry and build his own home. Of course, those were the furthest things from his mind, even though he knew it was one of the main things his mother and the other mothers of boys about to take the test would be thinking of. Besides the markets, they would gather with women from the other settlements to look for potential handfasting matches. It was not unheard of to have a boy complete his test and then be handfasted off by parents looking for grandchildren or the new daughter's dowry.

  But would he return home? What if they made him strip off clothes? He didn't remember it being part of the test, but what if they did? Would anyone notice the raised circle in the middle of his chest? Would the culler know? Is this what they looked for? Ghile thought about the stories of Haurtu, the Hungering God, who had gone mad, killed and then eaten the other gods.

  He worried what was happening to him was what the dwarves watched for. Had Adon been in the ruins and found the statue, too? Was that why he was in that dream place now? If he was culled like Adon would he go there forever?

  He thought about it. It was a good place and other than that ridiculous shadow that skulked around the island and occasionally made pathetic attempts to attack Adon or lure Ghile off into the woods, it was a type of paradise.

  His time spent with Adon had only helped to remind him how much he had missed his brother. Adon was different than before. More focused and tended to talk a lot more, but that was to be expected. He had been taken and culled by the dwarves and was now on that island forever.

  The things Ghile had learned still fascinated him. He could move things near him with a thought. Small things only and only one at a time. He still wasn't as good as Adon, who could lift many things at once. Ghile carried a small pouch with the stones he had gathered to practice with the rare times he was left to himself. He smiled and touched the pouch. Almost like a sorcerer's pouch he thought. But unlike Riff and Almoriz, he did not require a source to work this new power Adon had taught him. Though, he did tend to get a serious headache if he practiced too long or tried to mind touch, as Adon called it, more than he was capable of.

  It was odd touching objects with his mind. It was like reaching out and touching something with his hand. He could feel the texture of it, the stones for example, were hard and smooth in his mind. It also helped to mind touch something if he had touched it with his hands before. The more familiar he was with something the easier it was to mind touch.

  The best trick he had discovered was the ability to throw the stones by mind touching them. He could hurl all five of them, one after the other, in quick succession, more accurately and harder than he ever would have been able to throw them with his hand.

  He thought about the manhood test and looked forward to seeing how his new abilities would help him complete it. He was much more confident now and found he hadn't tripped recently and always knew when to duck before bumping his head into something. He thought he must be getting the confidence of a man. Maybe that was what the others were noticing when he caught them staring at him when they thought he wasn't looking.

  The creaking wheels of the cart brought him out of his reverie. They were moving. People laughed and chatted as they all began the journey down to Lakeside. Ghile was sorry Uncle Toren hadn't joined them. He had heard the other two fangs who had come through on their way to the festival say he shouldn't be far behind him. They had saw him not two days before. He was going to make one last run along the Horn and then head down. They would probably run into him on the way.

  Ghile wondered if he could confide in Uncle Toren. Adon had been explicit when he said to tel
l no one, but Ghile doubted if that included Uncle Toren. He had always been there with a smile and an understanding nod. Ghile thought about this as he walked. Yes, he could trust Uncle Toren. He would tell him on the way to the festival.

  20

  On the Horn

  Muk concentrated hard to keep the worgs from eating the human. They had the man cornered against the back wall of the cavern Muk had claimed as his lair on the ugly mountain. Its entrance was large enough for the worgs to enter and there was a ledge not too far where he could look down onto the boy's village.

  He had been planning how to get to the boy when the worgs had smelled this bothersome human following their tracks. Muk toyed with the idea of letting them go on and eat him. His attempts to control the man like he could the worgs had failed miserably. He had jumped up and down for a long time after that failure.

  Even now the man watched him warily through his one good eye. He didn't look well, he had been bitten in several places as the worgs had subdued and dragged him here. But, Muk would not kill him yet. He looked like the boy. Muk had been so excited at first when they had captured him. He thought he had the boy, but it was not him. Just some guard who must be related. The dream goblin said he could be of use so he was going to keep him alive for now.

  Muk sat on the opposite side of the cave from the man. He had long since gone through his gear and claimed his metal knife and bow. Muk particularly liked the bow. He kept the metal knife, which shined pretty, but he would never want to get close enough to something to have to use it.

  He rubbed the stone in his chest as he often did when he thought. He wished he spoke the man's language, but the man had not said anything to him he could understand. Dumb man thing, maybe he should let his worgs eat him.

  Bloody Maw came trotting back into the cave and made straight for Muk. The other members of the pack marking his passage across the sloping cavern.

  Muk jumped excitedly from one foot to the other, “Well? Well?”

  “Master, he is not in the human dwellings. Very few humans there. Are you sure that is his lair?” Bloody Maw sprawled down on the floor, tongue lolling out as he panted.

  “Yes, that is his lair,” Muk said. Where was the thrice damned boy? He wanted his stone! The dream goblin had shown him the boy once he had arrived on the mountain. He could see his face even now. Muk shook and began jumping again. That human boy had his stone. He was supposed to be in that village. Muk stopped jumping and contented himself with stabbing the dagger against the rock floor as he grumbled. He would just have to have patience like the dream goblin told him. The boy would return. But now Muk had to figure out how to get to the boy without having to fight the entire village.

  Maybe they could go down there now and kill those that were there. Bloody Maw had said there were only a few. But would that warn the boy? Muk had to do this right. He would wait for the boy to return and then lure him out of his village somehow.

  Muk sat there on the cavern floor stabbing his new dagger into the stone. He thought of the powers he would have once he had killed the boy and taken his stone. He wondered if he would have to eat all of him, or just touch him as he had the man statue in the ruins? He doubted the boy would hold still while the stone crawled out of him. Muk displayed all his small pointy teeth with the grin that came to him as he thought of the boy flailing under the pain.

  He considered Bloody Maw and the other worgs. He could send them in to grab the boy. The others could attack the rest of the village while Bloody Maw grabbed the boy and brought him to Muk. Muk gnashed his teeth. For that plan to work, Muk would have to go down there with the pack. He examined his new bow. He didn't like the idea of being on the receiving end of a human arrow. He might also lose a good number of his worgs to those humans and their dogs.

  Muk stopped stabbing the ground and smiled.

  Their dogs. Now there was an idea.

  21

  In Everyone's Best Interest

  Gaidel could feel the blood rising to her cheeks. After the trouble back in Redwood she knew this return home to the Cradle was going to be difficult. She had been raised, like every other child in the Cradle, to fear the Nordlah Barbarians.

  She had been taught the land below the Drops was a dangerous wilderness where the tribes of barbarians and orcs constantly fought. If the barbarians and orcs didn't kill you, there were forest trolls along the plain's border and all types of giant cats that would be happy to oblige.

  So, she could understand her kinsmen's dislike of her shieldwarden, but she had thought that title would be enough to make them look past Two Elks' heritage. The ceremony around the binding of a druid and her shieldwarden was a sacred one. She was beginning to understand that most just assumed the daughters chose their shieldwarden. But why would she bring this kind of trouble on herself?

  “Do not presume to know my business, Magister,” Gaidel said.

  She could feel Two Elks behind the thick chair and was thankful for his presence.

  Magister Obudar cleared his throat and leaned back. Dwarves always thought before they spoke. This one had made an art of it.

  “I do not presume to know your business, but I do presume to question it when it effects the Cradle. Your shieldwarden was ill chosen, Daughter Gaidel.”

  Gaidel pretended to smooth her green robes. She could not argue that point, she had thought it many times since the binding herself. But, she was not going to admit it to Magister Obudar.

  “I am not comfortable with this conversation, Magister Obudar.” She was uncomfortable with this whole situation.

  She had been approached as soon as she and Two Elks entered Lakeside and shuffled into the Bastion through its dock entrance and straight into this small windowless room somewhere on the ground floor. There was entirely too much stone and not enough light here for her comfort.

  “If you asked me to attend an audience to talk about my shieldwarden, we are finished.” Gaidel made to stand.

  The two dwarven guards who stood by the door tensed, chain sliding against plate armor, as did the two guards behind Obudar's chair.

  The magister raised one of his thick jeweled hands. “Be at peace, Daughter Gaidel.”

  Gaidel sensed rather than saw Two Elks' irritation. She could feel his eagerness to test himself against the four dwarven guards. She breathed deeply and thought calming thoughts. It would only make it worse if Two Elks fed on her unease.

  “I would have waited to speak with Mother Brambles, but time was of the essence and I asked to speak with the first druid who could be found,” the magister said.

  “I only wish you to remind your sisters and more specifically Mother Brambles to help keep the peace during the festival and more specifically the Rite of Attrition.”

  Gaidel frowned. Something was wrong. The druids knew the dwarves of the Cradle held their rite during the summer festival for just that purpose. She also knew the rites rarely resulted in an actual culling. What was the magister not telling her? The dwarves rarely did anything in haste, so this rushed secret meeting meant something was sorely amiss.

  “We are well aware of our responsibilities in keeping the balance in the Cradle, Magister Obudar. Is there something more you could share with us to help towards that goal?” Gaidel said.

  The silence drifted on in the impromptu meeting room as the magister stared at her. She could almost see his mind at work. She would indeed find Mother Brambles as soon as she could.

  The magister finally leaned forward over steepled fingers. “The knight justice sent by the Temple of Daomur has spent most of his time performing his holy duties upon the Nordlah Plains.”

  Gaidel gasped. “Why would they send him?” She had seen first-hand the violent conflicts between Two Elks' people and the cullers. She forgot protocol as fear for her people crowded her thoughts. “It makes no sense, the Cradle follows all your laws even the ridiculous-”

  “You presume much, Druid!” Magister Obudar said rising from his chair.

  Gaide
l heard Two Elks' shield slide off his shoulder and she rose quickly from her chair. Sudden movement echoed through the small room as weapons were readied and feet shifted into defensive stances. The two guards near the magister were now at his side.

  Obudar regained his composure and raised his hands. “Everyone be calm. Guards stand down.”

  Gaidel waited as the guards returned to their stations and the magister to his seat.

  “The deal is made. The Temple has chosen and we all must make do,” the magister eventually said.

  Gaidel ignored him and turned to Two Elks. “We are leaving.” She walked past him and towards the door. The other two guards stepped in front of it and stared past her to the magister.

  “We need to find Mother Brambles with all haste,” Gaidel announced to the room.

  “Escort Daughter Gaidel and her shieldwarden out through the dock entrance,” the magister said.

  The two door guards slammed mailed fists against their chests in response.

  “Escort them to the main gate, as well,” the magister added.

  “I would not want anything to happen to them in Lakeside.”

  Gaidel made to rebuke the order then thought better of it. She resented being thrown out of town, but, grudgingly admitted to herself it was the prudence of the action she resented most. She had to find Mother Brambles and seek her counsel.

  22

  The Festival

  Ghile was worried. Uncle Toren had not met up with the caravan. He had stared at the pockmarked face of the Horn searching its surface for any sign of his uncle as the caravan had made its way down the valley.

  Each time others joined the caravan, Ghile thought he saw Uncle Toren among them. He could see Toren's big smile as he waved to Ghile, fresh stories of his latest adventures ready to share. But each time it turned out to be someone else.