The Cradle of the Gods (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 1)
Page 9
He knew he was not the only one worried, he often caught his father and mother looking towards the mountain as well. He even heard some of the men commenting on it at the first night's fire. Ghile thought back to all the stories his uncle had told him about the dangers in the mountains surrounding the Cradle. Ghile hoped he was all right. His uncle wouldn't miss his manhood tests without good reason.
Ghile entertained the idea of going to look for him again. He fingered his pouch of stones.
Am I mad?
All he would do is get himself killed up there. But things were different now, he told himself. He was different. He had his powers to protect him.
Ghile needed to take the test and pass the culling. He noticed his mother atop the cart. She gripped her scarf tightly, something she did when she was worried. Of course, she was worried. She had made a journey just like this four years ago and lost her first born. Ghile hoped she wasn't going to lose another.
They reached Lakeside in the morning of the third day. He had seen the deep blue waters of Crystal Lake well before they reached the town situated along its rocky shore. The rows of steep arched long houses and muddy streets were a sharp contrast to the other settlements of the Cradle. In the middle of it all the Bastion rose like a stone guardian, visible well beyond the town walls.
Ghile saw a large flying creature circling lazily around the Bastion's upper crenellations. The culler's mount, he thought. Everyone talked about the flying beasts the culler's rode upon. Gifts from the gods, it was said, just like their powers. The same powers they used to decide if you were to be removed from the race of man, Ghile supposed. He shuddered as the reality of what was to come settled on his very young shoulders. I am not a chosen of Haurtu he repeated to himself.
That is not where my powers come from. I found an ancient stone that allows me to meet my brother in my dreams. He can talk to the ancestors and they have shared their secrets with him and he has shared them with me. This is different.
Ghile tried to convince himself everything would be all right as their caravan pulled their carts off the north road, just outside the main wooden gates.
Tents of all sizes and shapes dotted the fields along the outside of the huge wooden palisade that walled Lakeside. Musicians wandered amongst the tents performing. Children ran in small groups screaming and laughing, feeding off the excitement. Ghile heard the music from at least four different performers. A piper and drummer played a hopping jig near a large multicolored tent, while another group played violins accompanied by pipes, a song Ghile was unfamiliar with.
A couple of girls his age walked past him, deep in whispered conversation, interspersed with fits of giggles. They both had their hair wreathed in flowers. Ghile knew this meant they were of handfasting age. One, with hair the color of an evening fire, looked at him and smiled. The flame haired girl broke into another giggle and whispered hurriedly to her friend who then turn to stare. He looked about for something to do and heard their eruption of laughter. He was sure his face was now as red as her hair.
Ghile helped his father and mother set up their tent and move the goods they weren't tithing into it. While Tia played with her straw baby, Elana began organizing things and making the tent where they would be for the next few days, a home.
With a quarter of their fleeces on the cart, Ghile and his father headed into town. The smells of fresh baked bread and sizzling meat competed with roasting nuts and the sour tang of spilled ale to draw Ghile's attention. Food stalls crowded together along the tall palisade, their vendors adding their voices to the barrage of smells to draw the attention of the revelers.
“Scared, Son?” Ecrec asked as they made their way through the crowd.
“Sorry, Father?” Ghile had been taking so many things in, he wasn't sure which one his father was referring to.
“The Rites of Attrition. The culler. Your Manhood test.”
Ghile looked up at the culler's flying mount, still circling their destination and considered. Of course he was scared. He could feel the fear waiting just below the surface, but looking into his father's eyes, he knew he couldn't tell him that. Ecrec needed his son to be strong, like him. If Ghile told him what he really felt, he didn't think his father would understand.
“No, Father. I will make you proud.”
Ecrec smiled and nodded. He gave Ghile a firm pat on the shoulder and shook him a little. “You will do fine, Ghile. Then we will go home.”
They entered the central square and turned onto the main thoroughfare of Market Street. Market Street lead straight to the Bastion and then on to the docks. They reached the line of tithers stretched down Market Street well before they reached the Bastion. Ecrec guided their cart to the end of it and greeted the men in front of them. Ghile took in the sights and sounds around him as they started the slow stop and go pace of the line.
“What do the dwarves do with what we give them?” Ghile asked when they were near enough to the front to see men unloading their goods onto the stone landing at the base of the Bastion.
“I have been told they take what they need and store it in the Bastion, the rest they send to their capital city,” Ecrec said.
Ghile strained to catch a glimpse of the dwarves. He finally saw a couple of them seated at a stone bench on the edge of the platform. As the men unloaded goods, those working on the platform would take them, sort them, and then report to the dwarves who then scratched on something on the table. Ghile had asked about this before. They were writing. A way of taking words and keeping them. If you understood the way to write the words then you could speak them off what they were written on.
His people didn't have a need for writing. If you had something to say, then you just said it. Why would they need to write down words for what they collected? They had it there before them. Ghile shook his head. He did not understand dwarves.
Ghile continued to study the two dwarves. One was incredibly old, the hair on his head completely gone, while his beard reminded Ghile of a river flowing over gray stones. It ran down to disappear behind the table, Ghile could just see the end wisps dangling near the old dwarf's thick boots.
The other was much younger. He couldn't tell how old a dwarf really was, but this one had reddish brown hair that only just came off his chin and a nose that took up too much of his face.
They both seem to be as wide as they were tall. Ghile always marveled at how broad dwarfs were. They reminded him of tree trunks. The one feature they all shared was their expressions. They all looked bored. Like they didn't enjoy anything. At least, not like humans did. These two looked content to be doing what they did, but they didn't seem excited about it.
When it was their turn, Ghile helped his father hand the tied bundles of fleece up to the men on the platform. The younger dwarf glanced up from his tablets and scratchings, and Ghile thought the dwarf took his measure in that one stoic glance.
What do you see when you look at me?
The young dwarf was not forthcoming with any answers and turned back to his work.
“Name and residence?” the young dwarf said. His voice reminded Ghile of one of those large frame drums the troubadours played.
“Ecrec of Last Hamlet,” Ecrec said. With a nod of the elderly dwarf's head they were done. Their keepers were sated for another year.
But the tithing was not the only effect the dwarves were having on his people Ghile learned as they went on to trade with their first city merchant.
“What is this?” Ecrec asked.
The merchant, his expansive waist filling his side of the table, stopped and looked up to see Ecrec gesturing at the coins he was counting out.
“You can trust that this is top price, Ecrec of Last Hamlet.” the Merchant said, misunderstanding.
“No, the coin. Where is your wife? I want red and white cloth for this bundle, not these dwarven coins.”
The merchant sighed and ran a handkerchief over his damp pink scalp.
“I don't understand why I have to keep exp
laining this to you and your kin, Ecrec. I'll buy all of your fleece from you. The whole lot. Then, you take these coins I have given you and you use them to buy your goods from the other merchants. My wife is selling her cloth just one street over.”
Ecrec stared at the coins and then stared at the merchant. Ghile didn't think the man could sweat anymore, but he was wrong. He positively leaked.
“Listen, Ecrec, please just use the coins. It is the law. We have to trade in their coin. It is how they keep track of things.”
Ecrec set his jaw and was shaking his head. Ghile swallowed and wished now more than ever his uncle had been with them. Toren was always good at keeping his father calm.
“It is the law,” the merchant repeated.
“Father?” Ghile said, trying to think of what else he could say.
Ecrec scooped up the coins and thrust them into Ghile's hands.
“Here, boy,” he said and then turned to the merchant. “How do I know how much I have?”
The merchant exhaled and smiled nervously. “Here, Ecrec of Last Hamlet, I'll explain them to you.”
The merchant sorted the coins out into their different sizes and shapes. They all had a small circular hole in them. The largest ones were rectangular and heavier than the rest. Ghile could see five of those. He listened as the merchant explained how they were worth less as they got smaller.
It took Ecrec time, but he eventually got the hang of using the dwarven coin and at the end of the first day, they returned to their tent on the outskirts of Lakeside with a good amount of supplies.
Ghile was exhausted and needed to get a good night's sleep before his manhood test tomorrow. He quickly drifted off and dreamed of giggling red haired girls.
23
The Welcome
“Welcome citizens and humans of the Cradle to the summer festival!” Magister Obudar said over the gathered crowds. Cheers erupted around him. He stood on the wooden platform that was erected in the center of the festival field each summer for this event. He looked down at his clansmen gathered closest around him.
They were citizens of the empire and thus were always given priority over the humans. Like him, they were dressed in their finest earth tone robes. The early morning sun caused their many pieces of jewelry to cast off multifaceted beams of light.
Beyond them the sea of human faces stretched into the distance. He could see the occasional tonsure cuts of the druids, their blue tattoos differencing them from the others. Good, they will help keep the others in line.
“We gather together again in peace and prosperity,” he continued. It seemed all the Cradle had come together for the event. It was always good to remind them how lucky they all were.
“The Cradle of the Gods is blessed by Daomur. By choosing to live under his laws and the stewardship of his chosen people you have ensured this. For this I, and the other citizens of the Cradle, thank you.” Obudar said.
The respectful clapping around the platform was again drowned out by the enthusiastic cheers of the humans. He sighed at their exuberance. Such an emotional people. The citizens would take in the market stalls and then return to the Bastion. They had no interests in the manhood tests or what went on in the field at night. More like animals, at times, these humans. Not their fault, though. They were descended from the exiled god. Obudar gave silent thanks to Daomur for being born a dwarf.
“Enjoy your festival and celebrate. His word is Law.”
“His word is law,” was echoed back at him. He noticed more than one disapproving look from the citizens at the exuberance with which some of the humans shouted it. More like a cheer for the festivities to begin than the reminder it was.
With his official duties done, he made his way down off the platform. His guards, their plated armor reflecting the sun, waited at the base of the stairs to escort him back to the Bastion. He soon lost sight of the city walls. His guards parted the sea of humans, but could do nothing about the oppressive heat and smell that remained in their wake. Luckily, he was heading back to the Bastion and the humans made their way in the opposite direction, to the forest's edge where the manhood tests would soon begin.
The noise was deafening. Many were already drinking. They would celebrate well into the night. He thought about the profits he would make from the tax on beer. The festival was always profitable, but Obudar was glad he would not be needed again until tomorrow afternoon to oversee the Rites of Attrition. The thought of some of the things these humans got up to at their celebrations was enough to make a graybeard blush.
He was also glad the knight justice was nowhere to be seen. Finngyr's dislike of humans was beneficial in that it kept him in the Bastion for the majority of his stay. He would have to visit with the knight justice one more time to remind him of how the Elders wanted the Rite to be handled, for all the good it would do.
24
The Manhood Tests
The initiates gathered in the circular clearing created by a line of wooden poles. Each pole, twice the size of a man, held back a river of cheering faces like a damn ready to give. Ghile and the other youths stretched and bounced with infectious eagerness.
Mother Brambles emerged from the forest and slowly made her way down the pole lined passage leading to the initiates, her gigantic bear lumbering behind her. Ghile and the others' stretching and posturing was forgotten as they all stopped to watch the two approach. Those in the crowd closest to the poles fell silent as the matriarch of all druids passed. The bear roared, silencing the rest. Only the cries of a few babies, brought on by the roar, remained.
“Hear my words,” Mother Brambles called out. “As is our tradition, these boys take this test of manhood to prove their worth to their people and show respect for the old ways. Those who evade capture do so through the All Mother's protection. Those she deems not yet ready to be men will be denied her protection and left to their fates.”
Behind Ghile, men of the Cradle jeered and whooped. Ghile had seen boys carried out of the forest bruised and bloodied from their struggles to escape the hunters. He did not know which was worse, the beating or the humiliation of getting caught.
Ghile looked from the hunters to the other initiates taking the test. His eyes locked with Gar's. A smile, which never reached Gar's eyes, slowly stretched across his face. Before Ghile would have been terrified. But, not anymore. Ghile returned a smile of his own and motioned for Gar to bring his best. A moment of confusion passed over Gar's face before it was replaced by one of anger.
So, I'll have to avoid the hunters and watch out for Gar and Bralf at the same time. So be it. At that moment, Ghile felt more alive and ready to take on the world than ever before.
How could you want me to miss this, Adon?
“Prepare yourselves,” Mother Brambles said, looking over the initiates as if testing them then and there.
Hear me, All Mother. I am not one of your daughters and don't know if you even really care about this test, but I ask for your protection. I am ready to be a man.
Ghile swallowed, trying to clear his mind. He knew had to keep his head about him if he was going to pass this ordeal. Ghile lowered his long frame and set his feet, feeling the ground firmly beneath them.
As one, Mother Bramble's club came down and the river breached its dam. The initiates bolted for the forest to the sound of the cheering crowd and the hunter's clubs banging against shields, all working to drive the initiates on.
Ghile ran.
He ran passed a blur of faces and waving hands. The forest loomed before him ready to swallow him and his youth in one shadowed gulp.
All the things his father and Uncle Toren taught him fought for precedence. Most importantly he tried to remember how long he had before Mother Brambles loosed the hunters to give chase.
As soon as they passed the edge of the forest the other two dozen initiates veered off and headed in as many directions. Ghile went straight. He was going to wait until he was well out of sight of the hunters before adjusting his course.
He had gone far enough in and stopped, watching the others continue past him. He felt a hard shove and stumbled into the rough trunk of a tree. Catching himself, he saw Gar continue deeper into the forest.
“Giving up already?” Bralf called as he ran past Ghile, trying to keep up with Gar.
Ghile swallowed down his anger and watched to make sure they kept running. When Bralf and Gar were no more than movement in the distance he pushed them from his thoughts and breathed deep. He took in his surroundings.
The forest was full of deep summer greenery. Uncle Toren had said that would be to his favor, but fast movements would still draw attention. Ghile looked around for something that would help hide his tracks. Not too far from him a tree had given under the weight of years and finally cracked, falling to the forest floor. Already moss and the All Mother's children had begun to reclaim it.
That would do.
Ghile walked to the fallen tree and climbed its surface. The moss was dry, not slippery like he thought it might be. Making his way along the trunk for a good distance, he stopped when he spotted a clump of boulders a short distance away. He moved a little higher up the trunk and then, judging he had enough height, scanned the forest once more.
He was alone.
He focused his mind and concentrated on producing force out from his hands as he had done so many times before in his dreams. He was aware of every sound around him. He felt the wind whisper against the hair on his bare arms. He had to focus.
Raising his arms to their limits above him, he finally felt force stretch out above him. He exerted more will and could sense the shield's edges stretching out, forming a large slightly curved plate. When he couldn't stretch it any further he leaped towards the boulders.