Aster Wood and the Blackburn Son

by J B Cantwell

  “He’s just setting them up,” I said, tossing a rock into the embers. They sizzled at the disruption.

  “The calm before the slaughter,” he said.

  “We have to do something,” I said. I started rifling with my boots, hastily cramming them onto my hot feet. “We have to break the spell.”

  Kiron’s hand reached out, covering my chest.

  “We got time,” he said. “And I need to rest.”

  “We don’t have time,” I said angrily. “Those kids don’t have time.”

  Kiron laid his head back against the trunk of the tree.

  “I need to rest,” he said again. “If you want to run off and fight this Coyle person on your own, be my guest. Laughter and merriment for three months straight ain’t no easy task.” He closed his eyes.

  I stood up and kicked a larger rock into the fire in frustration.

  One eye opened, glared, and then shut again.

  I huffed. Couldn’t he see that we had to move now? That every minute that passed brought Rhainn and Cait closer to death?

  But I let him be. I knew better than anyone that Kiron was not to be forced into anything. And he would be no use to me exhausted, his powers spent.

  I turned and walked out of the clearing, unable to sit still after his strange tale. Far in the distance, Stonemore’s walls were visible. But the enchantment cast upon them was not. I looked out over the fields, but Kiron was right; the army wasn’t on the move, at least not anywhere close. It would take them time to get to the city. They could wait and attack at their leisure, knowing full well that it would be an easy fight.

  I paced.

  It would be a horrible fate for the Stonemorians if the army succeeded in reaching them before we figured out how to break the spell. They would be confused, not understanding why one second they were dancing and free, and the next slaughtered and in pain. Stonemore had become a world without pain. How would the people react to war?

  I had been hoping to raise the alarm, to get the people to assemble and prepare to fight. But this would be impossible now. We didn’t even know if we’d be able to get in and out again without succumbing to the unnatural happiness that filled the place. If we failed at that first and easiest task, we would fall to the enemy as well.

  That couldn’t happen. We were the only ones who knew about Rhainn and Cait. I was the only one who fully understood the peril they were in. The peril I had put them in.

  Finally after over an hour of walking around, anxious and impatient, I went back to Kiron’s tree. I was surprised to find that he was no longer there. The flames of the fire had gone out, and now all that remained was a bed of hot coals.

  “Kiron?” I said. Then louder, “Kiron!?”

  “Over here, boy,” his grumpy voice answered. “No need to shout.”

  Just out of sight behind the trees, he sat on a large boulder, gazing out at the city beyond.

  “How will we do it?” I asked.

  He chewed thoughtfully on a twig, not breaking his gaze.

  “There’s eight of ‘em in there,” he said. “We’ll get ‘em one by one. Then, when we got everyone, we’ll jump. Together.”

  “But, I don’t see how that will work. It was hard enough with just you and me.”

  “It’ll work,” he said, swinging his legs over the boulder and climbing down. “I know where to go to find ‘em, but I need you to focus on the task, keep me from breaking concentration. Can you do that?”

  “Can ten people really jump out of there? All at the same time?” I asked.

  “Dunno,” he said, shrugging. Then he turned back to the city, still chewing on the stick. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Historically, people put walls around cities to protect them from their enemies. Now, the enemy was using the city walls to imprison its people. The fact that they were happy within their cage didn’t seem to matter. I wondered if the Coyle would do the same to them as he had to all of the other villages in his path. I thought of the children running through the streets down there right now, their colorful clothing and bright faces unaware of the danger that lurked outside.

  Kiron turned and walked over to me. He drew out the link necklace from beneath his shirt again, pointing it towards the city. Then he gripped my hand, and I held it tight.

  “Keep your eyes on mine,” he said. “Don’t let me fall.”

  I shivered.

  What about me?

  Then he opened his mouth and shouted the command, and the blast sent the remaining coals in the fire flying into the trees.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  We landed not far from where we had last been, just on the outer perimeter of the square.

  “Chapman’s first,” Kiron shouted. His blue eyes were fixed on mine as if his life depended on it. “Do not break eye contact!”

  We walked sideways across the square, our arms entwined and heads close, as if we were performing some strange dance.

  “You alright?” I asked. Kiron’s looked terrified.

  “It’s hard,” he said through gritted teeth. “Hard to resist.”

  Perhaps he, having been under the spell for so much longer than me, was more susceptible to it.

  “Just hang onto me,” I said. So far, I felt fine. “Tell me about Almara.”

  He seemed confused for a moment, but then was able to catch a wisp of clear thought and began speaking.

  “Almara was a great sorcerer,” he said stiffly. “One of the most talented anyone in the Triaden had ever seen. He gathered the Eight, and together they set off to fight—to fight the darkness.”

  “That’s right,” I encouraged. “They went on a quest to fight the darkness. The sickness, remember? Tell me about the drought.”

  “The drought,” he said with noticeable effort, his brain working hard to move back in the past. “No water. Plants died.”

  In my peripheral vision I could see the front door to Chapman’s shop. I noticed that it was painted a pleasing, salmon pink.

  That’s nice, I thought.

  Then I wrenched myself back.

  A salmon pink door was not “nice,” I reminded myself forcefully. Not here.

  Focus.

  I stared back at Kiron.

  “Then Almara disappeared, didn’t he?” I asked, having a little trouble speaking now, myself.

  Kiron nodded with a look of physical pain on his face.

  “And we came…” I started.

  “Here,” he finished. “And that evil bastard, Cadoc was here.” His eyes became focused as he said this, remembering the acts of the Corentin clearly. “And he killed so many. And the rest of us he threw into the dungeons.”

  “Yes,” I said, also clearer now at the thought of Cadoc. We were at the door. I didn’t bother to knock. I turned the handle with one hand and kicked the door open with my boot.

  “Chapman!” I yelled.

  Kiron and I stared at each other, waiting. No response came.

  My heart sank. If Chapman wasn’t here, I didn’t know how we would be able to continue. I took the link from around my neck and gripped it in my fist, ready to jump if I felt myself losing control.

  “Chapman!” Kiron yelled, understanding that we would have to flee again.

  A rustling sound came from deep in the room, and from within it, the round little man who had hidden Kiron and I during our first trip to Stonemore emerged. Relief flooded through me at the sight of him as he bumbled through his shop, stacked to the top with books and trinkets. In the window, the golden sculpture rotated soothingly on its axis, forever a beacon to any follower of Almara who might happen upon it.

  I reached out with one hand and grabbed Chapman. Then I turned to him, almost laughing as I took in his costume, a pink three-piece suit.

  At first, he smiled the same vacant smile as everyone else in the town. Then, as he slowly recognized us, the truth descended on him, noticeably drawing down the features of his face until his mouth hung open in disbelief.

  “You!” he said,
staring at me.

  We three stood, holding hands like children playing a game. But the power that came from recognizing one another was greater than with just two.

  “Who’s next?” I asked Kiron, not bothering to answer Chapman’s unasked questions.

  “Finian!” he said.

  Chapman was still recovering from the shock of being released from the spell, but clearly he understood. Together we moved out the door, gripping each other tightly.

  “Don’t let go!” Kiron shouted over the boisterous crowd.

  A group of dancers passed by and, seeing us holding hands, tried to break us apart so that they could join. They had almost broken the grip between Kiron and Chapman, when Kiron kicked one of them with the heel of his boot.

  “Get off!” he growled.

  The man whimpered, clutching his injured shin. I automatically turned to the sound, breaking eye contact with Kiron, and I saw that same confused look on the man’s face Chapman had worn a moment before. The pain of the kick had brought him to his senses, but only briefly.

  When I turned back to Kiron, he looked away before we could lock eyes. He gazed up at the buildings above, and a vacant smile seemed to melt his features.

  “No!” I said, and I kicked him, hard, in the shin.

  “Ouch! You brat!” Kiron said.

  But then he understood. The pain had broken the spell, if only for a moment. Pain and bliss couldn’t exist together in the same space, so with each kick or jab, we came back to reality.

  In this way, kicking and pinching each other, we made it through the square. On the other side, in the old tavern at the corner of one of the main boulevards, we stopped again.

  “Get Finian!” Kiron said, this time looking at Chapman and giving him a poke with his boot.

  Chapman shook his head like a dog shaking off water.

  “Yes,” he spluttered. “Finian!” he shouted, bursting through the tavern door with his back. Both Kiron and Chapman took turns looking around. It didn’t take them long to find him.

  At the bar—no, on top of the bar—Finian sat, swaying drunkenly, singing a garbled tune.

  Kiron led the charge. He dragged us over to him, and grabbed the man by his beard and pulled him off the bar. Then he smacked him, hard, across the face, before gripping tightly onto his hand.

  Again, the group became clearer with the addition of another. Now we were four. It became easier to think, to not be distracted by the purple and yellow streamers that floated above the tavern as if a great victory had just been fought, or game won.

  “What happened?” Finian asked.

  “No time,” Kiron said.

  “Arin,” Chapman said.

  And we set off again.

  In this manner we dragged each other through town like some big, weird group of dancers, until we finally had them all. Eight of them and two of us. With each addition to our circle of connected hands, the task to stay focused had become easier. We got lucky when we found three of the men together, all hovering around the same pot of liquid chocolate, spoons in hand.

  After wrenching the spoons out of their frantic fingers and making sure each hand was connected to another, Kiron lifted his link and pointed it over the far wall of the city.

  “Don’t let go!” he shouted.

  I watched the jump as we made it, and was amused despite the seriousness of the situation. Chapman’s eyes were wide and terrified, surprised at the sudden pulling sensation that twisted and folded his body like saltwater taffy. I realized that he may have never used a link in his life before this moment. Arin was trying to break the grip of two of the others, clearly alarmed at the strange state of his body as it traversed through space.

  The only one who stood upon landing was Kiron. The rest of us hit the ground and tumbled in the dirt like bowling pins. One by one, we each sat up and stared around at the others, both loss and awe intermingling on each face.

  They were free.

  But the situation was grave.

  “What happened?” someone asked.

  One of the men who had been standing over the chocolate pot licked his lips, as if he hadn’t yet let go of the idea of a heaping spoonful of the stuff melting on his tongue.

  Another scrambled to his feet, seemed ready to fight.

  “Kiron, what is going on here?” he asked with authority. His shirt was a bright orange, and around his head he wore a ringlet of purple flowers, remnants of Stonemore and in contrast to his demeanor. It was Finian, the drunken man from the tavern, now painfully sober.

  When Kiron didn’t answer the questions, I did.

  “It was an enchantment,” I said. “I came into town early this morning and was under the spell, too. Then I found Kiron.”

  “And just who are you?” Finian asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “This is Aster Wood,” Kiron’s voice boomed, more authority in his tone than the other man could have hoped for in all his life. “Slayer of Cadoc and keeper of The Book of Leveling. He deserves your respect, all of you.”

  Finian looked back and forth between us, and I could tell he was still considering arguing further, but then Kiron went on.

  “This boy has done more for the Fold than any wizard known to us since Almara,” he said flatly. “And now he has saved all of our lives as well.”

  Kiron approached me then and held out his hand. I grabbed it and he hoisted me up to standing. I brushed some of the dirt and twigs off my clothes. But then I noticed that he was doing something strange. He had released my hand, but now stood before me, his palm up and outstretched, eyes downcast. I stepped back, confused. Then, I did what I thought he wanted, and I placed my hand in his, as if to shake it. Immediately he bowed his head. Then, he released me.

  Gasps came from several of the men.

  “What was that?” I asked. But he ignored me.

  Then, one by one, each man in the group stood and did the same. Eight more hands were held out to me, eight heads were bowed. Finian was the last, and he came grudgingly. He thrust his palm out to me, glaring. I looked at Kiron, unsure, but he only nodded grimly. I took the man’s hand and he reluctantly bowed his head.

  When this curious ritual was through, Kiron clapped his hands together with a snap.

  “We have work to do,” he said. “We have been under the sweet enchantment of Stonemore for too long. Now the enemy gathers his forces not far from here. They will attack, though we don’t know when.”

  “Attack?” Finian asked. “How do you know this?”

  “I saw them,” I said. “There are thousands of them.” Nine men stared, some unbelieving, some aghast. “And they have children with them.”

  “Children?” one of the oldest in the group asked. I turned to him.

  “Yes,” I said, happy that someone was focusing on this point, which to me was the most important part. “They’ve kidnapped at least a hundred young children and are forcing them to work in the army. The boy I met said he couldn’t leave because his little sister, who is only five, is being held captive by someone called the Coyle.” The thought of the Coyle brought a lump to my throat, not of tears but of bile. “We have to get them out.”

  The group suddenly erupted in conversation, opinions flying wildly and nobody listening to anybody.

  “Forget children,” one man said. “An army of thousands would obliterate the city.”

  “But we must release the children,” another said. “Of course we must. To do anything less would be a sin beyond all others.”

  “They’ve just been setting us up,” one said. “Gassing us with that foul air so that we’ll sit quietly for the slaughter.”

  “And what about the gold dust below the hold, Kiron?” said another more quietly, as if he weren’t sure if everyone else in the group knew of his secret. “What of that? We must retrieve it.”

  At last, Kiron raised one hand into the air, and gradually the men fell silent. Then he looked pointedly at me.

  “We must decide how to move forward based on th
e new information Aster has brought us,” he said. “What can we do that will enable the use of the Book at the earliest opportunity?”

  “What is this book?” Finian spat.

  My chest felt caved in. I didn’t want to tell the story again. But Kiron raised his hand in my direction. He expected me to be the one to tell it, regardless of my personal problems. I took a deep breath.

  “I’m…well…I’m Almara’s descendant. Before he died, we were on a quest together, his original quest, actually, to get to the Book of Leveling.” I shifted my weight, uneasy with all these eyes on me. The last time I had stood before a group of people and told my story, back in the Solitary village, I had ended up running for my life with a stolen piece of their history in my fist.

  “But what is it?”

  “It’s a guide,” I said. “A roadmap to balancing the Fold.”

  Several of the men stared blankly, and I realized I needed to continue.

  “Have you all heard of Jared?” Most nodded. “Well, before Jared died up on that mountain, he stole the gold balancing points in eight of the planets in the Fold. And when he realized what he had done, that the planets were out of balance, he used the power he had left to try to draw Earth closer, so he could take gold from there and level these planets again. Only it didn’t go as he had planned, and the force of his spell killed him. Lucky for us, before that he had written a guide for himself, a plan with the details about where the gold had been taken from, and how much. The Book of Leveling.”

  “And you have this book?” the old man asked.

  I looked towards him, relieved at the kind tone of his voice. I nodded.

  I dropped my pack to the ground and dug out the book. The men gathered around me and, opening to a blank page, I ran my hand over the surface. As the words appeared, several of them gasped. But those closest remained quiet and serious, reading the instructions over my shoulders. Finally Finian spoke.

  “And how are we to find this gold?” he asked, turning to face me. “There is no gold left in the Fold. Surely even a child like yourself must know this.”