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

by Thomas Quinn Miller

  Ghile fought back the urge to pass out. His mind was screaming to give in to the pain and drift off into peaceful oblivion, but Ghile was determined to endure this rite of passage. He felt he owed it to all who had or would suffer for him. He saw both Riff and Toren staring at him, their expressions a mix of curiosity, awe, and fear. His uncle had suffered because of him. Gar was dead. Last Hamlet in danger. All because fate had chosen him.

  The stone slid along his shoulder with a sickening popping sound and Ghile felt cold sweat on his brow, followed by bile rising in his mouth. He turned on his side and vomited.

  Laying there, shaking, Ghile saw Two Elks limp into the cavern, supported by Gaidel. He watched as Two Elks dealt with the two worgs whose jaws he had shattered. All strength had left them and they simply lay there whimpering as Two Elks brought his axe down on them in turn.

  Ghile smiled weakly. They had defeated the frost wyrm.

  Gaidel started towards him, but Riff reached out, stopping her.

  The pain finally reached his chest. Ghile heard the sound of meat sizzling on hot stone. He watched Riff trying to reason with Gaidel as she struggled to push past him, but couldn't hear their voices. A scream fought past his gritted teeth and darkness took him.

  38

  Meeting of the Minds

  Magister Obudar stood along the parapets of the Bastion, looking out over Lakeside. His mood was as dark as the columns of smoke still rising into the otherwise clear summer sky. Most of the fires had been extinguished, but the few that remained drifted up lazily before being swept out over Crystal Lake by the winds.

  He felt a pain in his stomach. He would need to seek out the herbalist for another of his soothing draughts.

  He had never thought the humans capable of such an uprising. They had been given everything they needed to be productive members of the empire. He had left them their freedoms and their traditions. He had even armed their fangs with dwarven blades. Was this how they repaid his generosity?

  He tightened his fists and pounded on the rough stone in his frustrations as he counted off lost profits. Word of this would reach the empire and his ability to lead would be questioned. Damned that Knight Justice Finngyr and his hubris. He was the cause of this. If he had only heeded the council's advice and taken that boy into the bastion to be culled, none of this would have happened.

  Obudar watched another patrol of Mother Brambles' druids walk down the center of Market Street, their shieldwardens guarding their flanks. Obudar did not like that he had to depend on the old druid to restore order. He was still suspicious of how they were strangely absent when the Rites of Attrition had occurred and then, when things were at their worst, had arrived in mass to restore order. But, begrudgingly he had to admit restore order they had.

  He looked north up the valley. He wondered what the knight justice would do when he reached Last Hamlet. Obudar feared for the repercussions that would follow. He knew his guards would follow whatever orders they were given. They were good dwarves and loyal to the empire. If the knight justice massacred the people of Last Hamlet, he doubted even the druids could keep the peace. For the first time since coming to the Cradle, the magister truly felt he lived on the edge of civilization. He had to find a way to return things to normal.

  The creaking of the stout wooden door announced the arrival of Mother Brambles, escorted by Obudar's steward, Gretchkin.

  “His word is law,” Obudar greeted them.

  Gretchkin quickly responded in kind. Mother Brambles walked over to the parapets, her stick keeping a sharp tapping cadence with her shuffling gait. She stared out over the city for a moment before responding.

  “It looks like things have calmed down for now. Any news from Last Hamlet, Magister?”

  Gretchkin cleared his throat.

  “Thank you, Gretchkin. You may leave us,” Obudar said.

  Gretchkin bowed his head, turning his palms towards the sky. “Of course, Magister. I will wait for our guest at the stair.”

  Obudar listened to the swishing of robes until they were silenced by the squeak of the closing door.

  The two stood in silence, looking out over the city.

  “I have heard nothing from Last Hamlet,” Obudar finally said.

  “I imagine you are worried this isn't over,” Mother Brambles said without taking her eyes off the view.

  Obudar sighed. “If he harms any more of them…”

  Mother Brambles did not respond.

  “Where were you and the other druids when the Rite of Attrition was held?” Obudar said. He saw no reason of talking around something. It was always best to get straight to the heart of the matter.

  “We gathered in council within the Redwood as we do during every summer festival.”

  “How very convenient for you to not be present when the culler struck the boy down and the sorcerer conjured those flames and ash to aid in their escape,” Obudar said.

  Mother Brambles took out her wooden pipe and frowned when she realized there was nowhere to light it.

  “The sorcerer, you say? I have never known any sorcerer who could control that much flame at one time,” Mother Brambles said. She stuck the empty pipe in her mouth and clamped down hard.

  “Were all the druids present at your council?” Obudar asked.

  Mother Brambles did not seem offended by the question, if she was, the level tone of her reply did not show it. “No druid can guide flame or water, Magister.”

  “Who then, woman?”

  “No one in the Cradle benefits from this madness, be they dwarf or human. I can only assume the one who displayed that power is the one who most benefits from the result,” she said.

  She looked back out over Lakeside and said almost idly, “When do you expect the knight justice to return with the city guard, Magister?”

  The aching in Obudar's stomach became a hollow feeling. He had never even once suspected the knight justice. He knew the knight justices had the ability to call on great powers in time of need. If so, then did that mean Daomur himself approved of what was happening? Could the flames and ash have been an attempt to stop the boy from escaping when he had not died from the blow?

  Obudar was the first to admit he knew very little of the prophecies. His was a mind for business, not the histories. He knew this boy had to be caught and culled for the good of all, but he did not want what he had built here to be tore down because of it. The more he considered it the more it made sense.

  “Daomur's beard, what am I going to do?” Obudar said.

  “If by that, you mean what you are going to do about the religious zealot responsible for this mess, I would think the answer was clear. He needs to leave.”

  Obudar absently pulled at his beard. The ache in his stomach had returned with a vengeance. “By the laws of the empire, the knight justice has control of the Cradle until the boy is captured.”

  “Or has left the Cradle,” Mother Brambles added.

  “What did you say?”

  “Or has left the Cradle. If the stonechosen leaves the Cradle, then the knight justice leaves with him.” Mother Brambles was no longer looking out over Lakeside. Her eyes were focused on the magister like a cat's watching a mouse.

  “But how… how would one prove…The knight justice would just tear the Cradle apart looking,” Obudar sputtered, his mind racing with thoughts.

  “Why the very prophecies that give him the power can also take them away,” Mother Brambles said.

  Obudar was taken aback. “What do you know of the prophecies?”

  Mother Brambles took her pipe from her mouth and poked it towards Obudar with each word she spoke. “The All Mother has no need to have her teachings etched in stone as Daomur does, but that does not mean her faithful are ignorant of them.”

  Obudar simply stared.

  Mother Brambles huffed in exasperation. “You will see the knight justice sooner than you think, Magister. When next you meet, repeat these words to him exactly as I say them to you now. He will leave
the Cradle upon hearing them. Then things can return to normal.”

  Mother Brambles waved her hand out over Lakeside. “All of this nonsense is just bad for business.”

  Obudar couldn't agree more.

  39

  Uninvited Guests

  Ghile awoke on the familiar island beach. The slow lapping water of the lake and warm breeze did not hold the same calming effect they had in the past. He touched his chest and felt the two stones just under his skin.

  “Where are you, Adon?” Ghile called, rising. “Or whoever you are.”

  He strode into the wood. For the first time, he heard a rumble of thunder in his dream paradise. The clouds were darker than he had ever seen them and they swirled with agitation. Ghile could make out his destination; the tall oak, its many limbs swaying in anticipation of the coming storm. He moved through the forest, his hands clenched into tight fists. He caught the movement of the shadow creature from the corner of his eye as it darted from behind one tree to the other, following him. He ignored it. He didn't have time for its games.

  “Adon!” He called out. “Come out! Where are you?” Ghile had not been here since the culler had struck him, even though he had tried to enter the dream many times. He was halfway to the oak when he realized he wasn't limping. He gave himself a cursory glance and found no injuries. He took this new information in stride and continued on, ducking under the low branches and walking around the large trunks, the wind whipping debris around him as he went.

  The Shadow ran a short distance in front of him and peeked timidly from behind a tree, as it always did. Ghile continued forward, not being veered off the most direct path to the Oak, wishing it to attack him this time. But to his disappointment, it again only gestured for him to follow it.

  “What do you want? We are alone! Attack me if you're going to,” he screamed. He stood there, waiting. Thunder rolled overhead.

  The shadow creature cringed behind the tree as he yelled and then, like so many times before, motioned for Ghile to follow.

  “Fine!” Ghile said. He reached into his pouch and felt the familiar smoothness of his stones, even though he had used them on the wolves in the waking world. He pulled one out and held it before him, but the shadow creature was already gone. Ghile stood there, his heart pounding, and scanned the forest for the creature. When he was satisfied it was gone, he continued on his way.

  Leaves flew around the clearing as Ghile arrived at the great oak. There was Adon, as Ghile had known he would be, sitting on one of the giant roots, waiting. Without forethought, Ghile held up his palm and mind pushed the stone he had drawn for the shadow creature at Adon. The stone flew unerringly at Adon, who sat motionless. At the last moment, the stone hit Adon's force shield and shattered into fine dust.

  “Well, hello to you too, little brother,” Adon said.

  “You are not my brother!” Ghile reached for another stone. Thunder rumbled off the surrounding mountains as the sky darkened further and lighting flashed behind the clouds.

  “You need to calm down, Ghile. Why are you attacking me?” Adon said.

  Ghile gave up on the idea of hurling another stone. He was just so angry. Fine. No more stones. But he was going to get some answers.

  “Who are you?” Ghile said.

  “You know who I am.”

  “That is not an answer, Adon.” Ghile moved to where he was directly under the root, looking up at Adon.

  “Why don't you tell me who you think I am, then,” Adon said.

  “Haurtu, the Devourer!” Ghile said. “I think you are the exiled god, trying to return to our world!”

  If Ghile's words had any effect, he couldn't see it. Adon was just patiently watching him.

  “Fine. I'll go along with this. Let's say I'm Haurtu. Now what?” Adon said.

  Ghile started to reply several times, stopping each time in turn. That was a very good question. What if he was? Ghile couldn't hurt him, he knew that. He didn't have the power to hurt him. And if Ghile was going to be honest with himself, he had missed him ever since the culler had struck him. He had missed Adon. He didn't know who this was for certain. If it was Haurtu, then there wasn't much Ghile could do about it now, but go along with him. Ghile closed his eyes and breathed deeply before continuing.

  “Why couldn't I come here after I was struck by the culler?” Ghile said after awhile.

  “That blow would have killed you. The stone protected you, but it isn't an easy thing to do. You both needed time to heal,” Adon said. He looked up at the clearing sky and, seeming satisfied, pushed off the root, and floated to the ground next to Ghile.

  Ghile ran his hand through his hair and sighed, “Nothing for it now, I suppose.”

  Ghile sat down next to the gnarled root, drawing his knees to his chest. Adon sat down next to him. They both sat there quietly for a time watching as the wind died down and the leaves settled to the forest floor.

  Ghile ran his hands over the two lumps in his chest. “How many of these stones are there?” he asked.

  Adon, glanced over at him and shrugged. “Don't know.”

  “When I saw the other stone, I had to have it, Adon. All I could think of was possessing the stone. I even knew how bad the pain was going to be when I took it, but I took it anyway,” Ghile said.

  Adon nodded, listening. “They call to each other. Now that you have two, if there are others you will be able to feel them, as well. You are stonechosen, Ghile. I have been listening to the Elder's dreamings on this. You must seek out the other stones.”

  “For they already seek you,” a young female voice said.

  Ghile had a stone in his hand before he knew he had done it. Adon was faster. A stone shot from his hand, speeding across the clearing, to pass harmlessly through the speaker's translucent body.

  The girl was human and not much older than Ghile. She wore a simple gown the same swirling grey color as she was. She looked like she was made of smoke. If she felt the stone, she did not show it. She walked towards them, never taking her eyes from Ghile.

  Ghile suddenly felt the pull of another stone wash over him like the heat from a fire.

  “You're stonechosen,” Ghile said as he jumped to his feet.

  “As are you,” she replied. Ghile had to concentrate to understand her, she had an odd accent. She moved to stand directly in front of him.

  Ghile felt the urge to reach out and place his palm on her chest. She must have felt the same stirrings because her eyes kept moving from where Ghile's stones were embedded, to his eyes.

  There was something different from the irresistible pull Ghile had felt with the goblin, though. The feeling was somehow less, muted. Ghile tentatively reached out and tried to touch her. As he suspected, his hand simply passed through her.

  “How are you doing this?” he asked.

  She seemed about to answer, but then noticed the smoke she was composed of start to disperse. “There is no time. I feel the connection slipping. I have never reached this far into the dreaming before, maybe the stones, I don't know. But, I cannot wake.”

  Her form flowed away quicker. Ghile did not want her to go. He had so many questions. She was stonechosen like him. “Please, don't go.”

  “Too far away. Come to the City of the Fallen. Something is wrong. My brother is…” The girl was gone.

  Ghile turned towards Adon. “Where did she go? Have you heard of this City, Adon?”

  Adon shook his head, still looking somewhat shocked by the unexpected visitor.

  The pull of her stone was all but gone, but he could still feel the tiniest tug deep in his chest. He wondered if it would be enough to lead him to her. She seemed to be in trouble, or her brother was. Ghile knew how upset he would be if his family was in danger.

  “Our family! Adon, I have to wake! The culler is going to search for me in Last Hamlet. They are all in danger.”

  That seemed to snap Adon out of it. “Then you need to wake, Ghile!”

  “How?” Ghile tried to remember in the
past how he had come out of these dreams. He had always just fallen asleep in this world and awoken in the other. Ghile thought of Tia and shook his head. The worry ate at his gut. There was no way he was going to fall asleep.

  “I know how,” a voice croaked. Ghile recognized that voice.

  Ghile spun. “What are you doing here, goblin?”

  From around the root, skulked the Goblin. Its long ears hung limply on the sides of its oblong head.

  “Muk,” the Goblin said. “I am Muk.”

  Muk stood before them, its arms hanging at its side waiting.

  Ghile was about to attack it when he noticed it no longer had a stone in its chest. Ghile looked to Adon, but Adon was only staring back at him. Why didn't Adon seem surprised?

  “You knew it was here?” Ghile said.

  Adon nodded. “He appeared on the ground right where we are standing only a short time before you came stomping out of the woods.”

  “Why didn't you say something,” Ghile said, throwing his hands in the air.

  “You really didn't give me a chance, Ghile.”

  “Listen, Muk is here to help you. I think he was brought here as I was,” Adon said.

  He had no time for this now. “Then tell me how to wake up. Now!” Ghile said.

  Muk's ears shot straight up and he began bouncing from foot to foot.

  “Yes, Muk will teach. I can teach you how to touch animals' minds and have them do your bidding. I can-”

  Ghile grabbed the goblin by the shoulders. “I want to know how to wake up!”

  Muk winced and then began nodding vigorously. “Yes, Muk teach you.”

  Muk dropped down onto the ground in a sitting position and began breathing deeply. He sucked in great breaths of air and then blew them out with such force that it made Ghile feel light-headed just watching him.

  Muk opened one eye and then motioned for Ghile to sit down. “You do as Muk do,” the floppy-eared Goblin said.