The Stone of Mercy

by M. J. Evans

  Chapter 9

  The Work of Evil

  In a pitiful voice, Carling cried out, “Motherrrrrr!” Her pleading cry was so loud it was heard throughout the streets of the little village, bouncing back and forth as though echoing off cold, stone canyon walls. She collapsed over her mother’s body, wrapping her arms around her, refusing to let her go.

  Gradually the flames throughout the village dissipated. Glowing orange embers floated skyward in lazy swirls. The little residents of the village of Duenton crept out of their hiding places to assess the damage and see what they could do to help one another. Carling remained on her knees beside her mother, her hands covering her face as she cried uncontrollably. Higson knelt beside her and put his arms around his best friend.

  The two Centaurs that had brought Carling and Higson home circulated around the village, trying to determine what had happened here. Everywhere the story was the same:

  A band of Centaurs, dressed in black with masks over their faces, had stormed into the village in broad daylight, demanding to know the location of the two Duende teens who had saved the fillies. Everyone had refused to speak to them…until they started setting homes and businesses on fire. Then Saleen stepped forward.

  “It is I you are seeking,” she said to the apparent leader.

  “You?” he scoffed. “You are not a teenager.”

  “I am responsible for what my daughter did.”

  “Your daughter? Then tell me where she is.”

  “I cannot…will not do that.”

  The Centaur grabbed her by the throat. At that point, Carling’s father attacked the Centaur with a shovel. Two other Centaurs pulled him off. They demanded to be shown the location of their home. When the girl was not found at their little cottage, both parents were severely beaten and left to die. The house was set on fire.

  The evil Centaurs ran out of the village, promising to return one day and finish what they had come to do…execute their revenge on Carling and Higson.

  The Centaurs from Minsheen called the villagers together. “My dear friends, we will help you.”

  “You brought this upon us!” shouted one Duende woman as she clutched her weeping child to her breast.

  “Yes,” responded another woman. “We never had any problems until those two kids saved your fillies.”

  “Now look what’s happened. Our homes, our stores, our entire village is destroyed!” several shouted at once.

  “And Saleen and her husband are dead,” wailed a more compassionate villager before burying her face in her scarf and sobbing.

  The Centaurs nodded. “This all appears to be true. We certainly never foresaw such a terrible result of Carling’s and Higson’s heroism.”

  A few Duende scoffed at the word “heroism.”

  One of the Centaurs held up his hand. “But I promise you that, with the exception of Carling’s parents, whom we cannot bring back to life, we will put all things right. We will help you rebuild your village, and we will provide guards for your town. You will be safe under our care. We promise.”

  Chapter 10

  Finding the Breastplate

  Carling spent a sleepless night in Higson’s home, one of the few structures left untouched due to the fact that it was located a mile away from the actual village and hidden in the forest. Her grief was overwhelming, and the pain of her broken heart sent poison throughout her body. She had always felt safe and greatly loved in her parents’ home. Now they were gone, and all things that had seemed secure and permanent had disappeared with them.

  Higson’s mother did her best to comfort the girl, offering her warm milk and honey, a soft blanket, and tight hugs. But nothing really worked. Carling was distraught and blamed herself for all that had happened to both her parents and her village. One minute she’d been a celebrated hero, and the next she’d become a reviled villain. She wanted to run. But to where could she run? She wanted to hide. But hide where and from what? How can you hide from your own feelings, your own fears? They fill you up completely and grow with every breath you take.

  “Why did I ever shoot that first arrow?” she asked aloud, her violet eyes dull with pain.

  “Because you saw some young fillies in danger,” said Higson’s mother, wrapping her arms tightly around the girl.

  “You did the right thing, Carling,” said Higson’s father as he patted her shoulder. “The evil acts of the Heilodius Centaurs prove what kind of villains they are. I just wish I had been able to fight them myself. Your father did his best, but we Duende are no match for such big, strong creatures.”

  Tears ran down Carling’s cheeks, leaving a salty crust on her fair skin.

  —

  The next day brought both sunshine and, as promised, a large crew of Centaurs from the City of Minsheen in the foothills of Mount Dashmoore. Manti was at the lead. They came with tools of all sorts to help clean up the devastation and start the rebuilding. Their large size and great strength enabled them to get much more done in far less time than the little Duende could possibly have hoped to accomplish on their own.

  Carling was determined to do what she could to help, even though Higson and his parents pleaded with her to stay in their home and rest. “I cannot just sit here while everyone else works. I will do all I can to make up for the trouble I’ve caused.”

  Carling hoped that keeping busy would help her keep her mind off the pain she was feeling. So Carling and Higson, along with his parents, went into the village, tools in hand. They headed first to the town square, where the City Hall was the only building undamaged. Carling intentionally avoiding returning to her home. She was afraid to face it, afraid she couldn’t go inside, and afraid she couldn’t stay out.

  At one point, Carling stopped and just stared at the destruction all around. Higson stopped beside her, taking her hand in his. The smell of damp, charred wood filled the air. Piles of rubbish filled the streets. Sorrow filled every heart. Many of the pine trees stood bare of needles, their branches looking like black skeletons. Gone were the spring flowers. Gone the lovely little homes and shops. Several wisps of smoke still curled upward, like snakes arising from a charmer’s basket. Carling took a deep breath, clenched her teeth, brushed her hair back from her face, lifted her chin, and walked down the street.

  The four of them joined a crew working on the little school. As they pulled out burned desks and books, Higson asked her, “Carling, what was your mother saying about the kitchen floor?”

  “Hum?” said Carling as she gathered up some hats and coats from the lost and found, the odor of smoke emanating from their fabric.

  “You know. She said something about the kitchen floor…under the kitchen floor.”

  Carling looked at him with her brows knotted, thinking he was crazy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Carling, don’t you remember? Just before she died, she said there was something for you under the kitchen floor.”

  “No. I don’t remember anything like that,” she responded as she turned away to hide the tears that were stinging the backs of her violet eyes.

  “I heard her say that. I think we should go to your house and check before the work crews get there.”

  Carling stood upright, her back to Higson. “I don’t think I can go back there.”

  “Would you like me to go?”

  “No. I think you must have misunderstood my mother. What could possibly be under the kitchen floor? She was dying, probably hallucinating…she didn’t know what she was saying.”

  Higson put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and spoke to the back of her head. “That could be true. But what if it isn’t? What if there is something she really wanted you to have? Maybe a family heirloom, a special gift she had been saving…I don’t know. I just think we should check.”

  Carling lowered her shoulders and sighed. Slowly she turned around to face Higson. “All right. We’ll go. But don’t be surprised if nothing’s there.”

  The two Duende walked to the wreckag
e that was once Carling’s home. It smelled like a campfire after a rain. Little towers of steam still arose from hotspots throughout the house. They scrambled through the wreckage and into the remains of the kitchen, where Higson began clearing away a pile of rubble. Carling joined him with little enthusiasm and even less energy. Some pieces of debris were so heavy, it took both of them to move them. Finally, the floor was cleared enough to reveal the little rug that was so familiar to Carling. She dropped to her knees and scooped the rug up in her arms, clutching it to her chest. She pressed it to her face, hoping to breathe in the familiar odors of her mother’s kitchen. But all she could smell was smoke. She threw the rug down as a stab of fear entered her heart and spread throughout her body. She knew not what the future would bring, and the thought of facing it without her parents terrified her. She started sobbing.

  Higson stood beside her and waited.

  After several minutes of crying, Carling sniffed loudly. She wiped her puffy eyes with her sleeve.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I think I can understand.”

  Carling felt a surge of anger fill her. “No! You can’t! You’ve never had your parents killed because of something you did.”

  As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. She could see the pain her words had caused reflected in his eyes.

  “Forgive me, Higson. I didn’t mean that. And you certainly don’t deserve that.”

  “It’s okay,” Higson responded quietly. He knelt beside his friend and wrapped his arms around her. Carling felt herself melt against him as she let him absorb some of her pain.

  Eventually, Higson brought her back to the task at hand. “Are you ready to see what your mother left you?”

  Carling sighed. “I guess so,” she said, still doubting there was anything there and not really sure she wanted to see it if there was. Additionally, she was quite sure she didn’t want to leave Higson’s embrace.

  Slowly, she straightened and pushed away from her friend. She looked down at the dirty floor beneath her feet. Built into the floor of rough-hewn boards was a door. The wood grain matched so perfectly, however, that it was nearly impossible to detect the door. Two small holes chiseled into one end provided a handhold. Carling was sure she had never seen the door before. Hesitantly, she reached down, put her fingers in the handhold, and pulled. The boards creaked and groaned as they scraped against one another but then grudgingly cooperated. Higson helped her move the door to one side.

  Both young Duende got on their knees and peeked into the black hole. They waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. As they did so, an object became visible. About two feet down in the dark, damp, musty-smelling hole, an oddly shaped package could just barely be seen. Carling felt herself freeze in place.

  Higson must have sensed her hesitation. He patted her on the arm and said, “Do you want me to get it out?”

  Carling nodded.

  Higson moved onto his stomach and reached down into the hole. His arms were just barely long enough to reach the burlap-covered package. He wrapped his fingers around its edges and lifted it out of the hole. The weight of it caused his muscles to strain. The young Duende set the heavy package on the charred remains of the kitchen table. Immediately, the table collapsed, crashing to the floor, taking the package with it.

  “Oh, no!” cried Carling.

  Higson grabbed the package and placed it in a fairly clear space on the floor. “Sorry about that, Carling,” he said sheepishly. He bowed low and with a swoop of his arm said, “Your inheritance, my lady. You need to do the honors of opening it.”

  Carling moved over, crawling across the rough, dirty floorboards on her hands and knees. The burlap wrapping was tied together with twine and secured with a bow in the center. She reached out her slender hand, noticing how it trembled, and untied the bow. With the twine out of the way, she clasped the folded edges of the burlap and parted them.

  In that instant, both Carling and Higson fell backward as though pushed by an unseen force. A bright beam of light shot up to the sagging ceiling from a strange silver object. A soft hum was heard coming from the beam of light.

  As the two Duende gazed at the pulsating beam, a tall, thin figure materialized before them.

  “Carling,” the figure said in little more than a whisper.

  Realizing that her mouth was hanging open, she quickly shut it. For some unknown reason, Carling felt remarkably safe in the presence of this mysterious, magical stranger who was calling her name. While Higson remained frozen in place, Carling slowly rose to her feet to greet the visitor.

  “Carling,” he repeated, his voice sounding like a choir singing.

  “It is I,” said Carling. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Vidente. I am the Wizard of Crystonia.”

  Carling cocked her head to one side, searching her memory to see if she’d ever heard of such a being. Nothing came to mind. “I know nothing about you.”

  “That is not a surprise. Few in Crystonia do.”

  “Why have you come to me?” she asked.

  “You have been chosen to perform a great work.”

  Carling raised her eyebrows, wrinkling her forehead in surprise. “What is it that you desire of me?” she responded meekly.

  “You have been foreordained to become the queen of Crystonia.”

  “Queen?” Carling whispered, her heart pounding, her palms suddenly sweating.

  The stranger who called himself “Vidente” nodded. “For far too long, your land has been without a righteous ruler. You, my child, must become that leader.”

  “I’m sorry to question you, sir, but how is that to be as I am still but a child? I know not the ways of the world. I have barely left the confines of my own little village. And now I am alone in the world with no one to guide me. My parents have been killed….” She paused. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

  Vidente nodded, his eyes filled with both sorrow and compassion. “Yes, I know what happened to your parents. You must do whatever you can to ensure that no others are left orphaned by the evil forces that are moving across the kingdom.”

  “But I ask you again, oh Wizard, how can I be the queen of this land?”

  The stranger bent down and picked up the silver breastplate. The highly polished metal sparkled in his hands. “This breastplate will be the source of your power and protection. But it is incomplete.”

  The Wizard pointed to the four empty circles on the breastplate. “In order for you to become a righteous leader, the kind of ruler that this land needs, you must fulfill an important assignment. Each of these holes holds a sacred stone that carries marvelous powers and will endow you with the skills and traits you will need. I call them ‘The Stones of Light’.” Pointing to each of the holes one by one he said, “This space is for the stone of Mercy, this the stone of Courage, this the stone of Integrity, and finally,” he pointed to the circle in the center, “the stone of Wisdom.”

  He smiled kindly at the young Duende. “You, my little Carling, must gather each stone and put it in its place on the breastplate before you will be worthy to rule the land of Crystonia.”

  Carling could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Her breath was shallow. Her mind was racing, filled with doubts, questions, and, yes, fears. She choked out one word: “Alone?”

  The Wizard’s eyes sparkled with understanding. He glanced over at Higson, who had remained in a trance-like state during their entire conversation. “Higson, my young lad, you may join us now.”

  Higson blinked and shook his head as though awakening from a deep sleep. “W-what?” he stammered.

  Suddenly appearing to notice Vidente for the first time, he jerked his head upward. “Who are you?”

  Carling stepped over to him. “It’s alright, Higson. This is the Wizard of Crystonia. His name is Vidente.”

  The Wizard dipped his head in acknowledgement. Higson let his job drop open and just stared.

  Vidente chuckled. “My dear Higson. Will
you be Carling’s companion as she fulfills an important assignment?”

  With his mouth still hanging open and without even asking what the assignment was, Higson nodded.

  Vidente chuckled again. “That’s my boy. A loyal friend, to be sure.”

  Turning back to Carling, he continued his instruction. “The first stone you are to find is the Stone of Mercy. The great eagle Baskus has been protecting it. You must find Baskus. He will give it to you.”

  Vidente stroked his long gray beard and studied Carling carefully. “I must warn you, however, there are powers of evil growing stronger and stronger across the land. Once it is known that the Silver Breastplate has been created and given to its rightful owner, every effort will be made to keep you from completing your mission. I fear that each stone will become more and more difficult to obtain. I advise you to keep your quest a secret from all except a carefully chosen few. You must understand that many others desire to obtain the throne for themselves. Now go. Go swiftly. “

  Before Carling could even ask the questions that filled her head, Vidente disappeared.

  “Vidente! Vidente! Don’t go. I need your help,” she called out in desperation.

  There was no response. Vidente was gone, and the silver breastplate lay sparkling on the floor at her feet.

  Left alone in the ruins of Carling’s family home, the two Duende looked down at the silver breastplate. It continued to sparkle as though of its own internal light.

  “Should I put it on?” Carling asked with both timidity and curiosity.

  “I have the feeling you’re supposed to,” Higson said as he lifted the silver breastplate. Just as he did so, the breastplate dissolved in his hands and disappeared. Startled, Higson looked up into the surprised face of Carling. She stood before him, her arms outstretched, her torso covered with the silver breastplate.

  “Well, I guess you didn’t need my help,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

  Both of them were beginning to realize there was a power here they didn’t understand, and certainly couldn’t control. Carling’s lips began to quiver and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes. There was magic here, and she knew instinctively to treat magic with caution.