Time of the Stonechosen

3 Predator and Prey-1

3

Predator and PreyIt was all Ghile could do to concentrate on his next step. The muscles in his legs screamed in protest as he waded through the chest deep water. He pulled his boot free from the sucking mud, only to stagger forward and force it back down into its clutching grasp once more.

On it went. He had no idea how he kept going – pull, step, pull, step. Behind him, he could hear Riff's heavy breathing and occasional curses as he cleared the air around him of swarming insects. In front of him, Daughter Gaidel held her staff over a downturned head, plodding along. Even Ast and Cuz panted nearby, tongues lolling as they paddled to keep up.

Only Two Elks seemed unaffected by the exertion. The barbarian had cut a winding route through the night, trying to keep to higher ground whenever possible. That too was tiring, since what little ground rose out of the fens was bordered by reeds and every bit above water choked with plants.

At least Ghile's new powers allowed him to see where he was stepping when they were not in the glowing water. Riff had fallen on more than one occasion when they moved across land at night.

Two Elks almost had to separate Riff and Gaidel, when Riff once again pulled his everflame from one of his many pouches. Everflame was the symbol of a sorcerer. Only they could transform a regular flame, causing it to lose all heat but give light for months, though nothing fueled it. It could even act as a source for the sorcerer's magic. Ghile had seen Riff use it to deadly effect against the worgs in the battle on the Horn.

Gaidel would not suffer anything that increased their risk of being seen and confronted Riff each time he drew it out. It was only when Two Elks added the light could attract the Ghost Fen's nocturnal predators that Riff finally put it away.

They had descended the last tier of the Ghost Fens the previous morning and camped along its base that day. It was much warmer here, out of the mountains. Ghile's hopes that the perpetual mist would clear was short lived; it clung stubbornly, even here at the fen's lowest level.

With the heat came the insects. Though, they didn't seem to appreciate the way he tasted, they apparently considered sorcerer a delicacy, having swarmed Riff incessantly.

After a morning of more weapons training with Two Elks, Ghile slept like the dead. They set out with dusk and had been trudging along ever since.

The ghostly mist painted everything in its bluish glow, overpowering the dull yellow of the rising sun. Ghile almost wept with relief when Two Elks called for a rest on a wide hillock. With the coming dawn, Daughter Gaidel had permitted a small banked fire. It licked the stuffy morning air. Ghile and Riff huddled nearby, enjoying the reminiscent comfort of its crackling flames more than the resulting heat.

Riff moved among them, mumbling the incantation to draw the moisture from their clothes. It was only a little time later when the four travelers and two mud-covered hounds rested on the dark hillock, surrounded by the mist and ghostly blue waters, the tiny yellow flames of the banked fire flickering between them.

Ghile's boots hung upside down on sticks, as close to the fire as he dared. Though they were dry, he liked the warmth when he pulled them on in the evening. He was still picking at the bones from the last of the fish Gaidel had caught earlier, as he eyed Two Elks.

Two Elks was already asleep, his chest moving in a slow easy rhythm. His arms cradled the stone axe. His kite shield, the sign of a shieldwarden, was laid over him like a turtle's shell. The night's march must have tired him more than Ghile first thought. Normally, they would have worked on weapons training right after eating. Ghile gave thanks for small blessings and quietly made himself comfortable.

Gaidel sat across from him, her legs folded beneath her, eyes closed. She spent most mornings in this state, humming softly to herself as she communed with the All Mother. He listened and noticed, not for the first time, how her humming followed along with the sounds of the fens.

He closed his eyes and felt a dull throbbing in his chest, like a muscle strained by a long day's toil. But it was no muscle, the throb came from the two soulstones embedded deep in the bone, just beneath his skin.

Ever since the other stonechosen, the young girl made of smoke, had appeared in his dreaming, he could sense her direction. He knew he could follow the throb and it would lead him to her. The problem was, it would lead him over any mountain or across any canyon in his path. He could use this strange attraction between the stones to find her, but he couldn't follow it blindly.

He wondered if she could feel the strange 'stonecalling' as well. If so, was she trying to find him? If she was, what would happen when she did? The only other time he'd encountered another stonechosen, the goblin Muk, they'd fought to the death and now the goblin's soulstone resided in Ghile's chest.

“What do you know of our destination?” Ghile asked Riff.

Riff leaned on one elbow, a hand absently held toward the fire. He smirked before answering. “To which do you refer: The Fallen City, the Deepwood, or this Dagbar character?”

Ghile hadn't realized his question was so open ended. Riff had a tendency to make light of most situations and rarely was straightforward in his answers. He would drag his responses out and try to leach every ounce of humor he could from each one. Ghile found it enjoyable in times like these. It was good to have someone to remind him things were only as bad as he wanted to see them.

Riff's mentor, Master Almoriz, the Sorcerer of Whispering Rock, told them they should seek out a tradesman named Dagbar, who lived in a human settlement like the Cradle. Of course, this settlement was on the edge of the Deepwood, forest of the Elves. Ghile knew as much about the Deepwood and the elves as he did Dagbar or the Fallen City.

“One is as good as the other,” Ghile said.

Riff considered for a long time. The sound of Gaidel's soft humming filled the silence.

“Master Almoriz spoke of the Fallen City. It was one of the largest human cities before the Great Purge. I do not know what it was called before then. But, as one of the largest cities, it drew the attention of Daomur himself.

“Master Almoriz said Daomur split the ground asunder with his great hammer, causing the city to collapse inwards. I do not know if it is named for the hubris of the humans who lived there, or for the punishment Daomur inflicted on it for Haurtu's actions,” Riff said.

Ghile wondered what the stonechosen girl was doing in such a place. He discovered his first soulstone in the ancient ruins at the base of the Horn, the large mountain which cut the upper part of the Cradle into Upper and Lower Vale. He later came to understand it had once been a temple. He had not thought to ask Muk, who was now in his dreaming, where the goblin had found his soulstone. It was something he would have to do.

“Now the elves, let's see…” Riff wrinkled his forehead as he searched his memories. “Other than humans, the elves were the only other race who suffered as many losses during the God Wars and it is said they are not a prolific race to start with,” he said. “I have never met one, but they are said to be beautiful to look upon. It is also said their goddess, Islmur, dotes on them. They do not call themselves elves, either. But, I cannot remember what Master Almoriz called them.” Riff shrugged. “What I do remember is they fought alongside the dwarves during the Great Purge and took from us the language of the gods, taught to them by Islmur herself. Master Almoriz said it was the language the sorcerers of old used to command great magics. The powers some of us are blessed with today, are mere shadows of the power they held.” There was no mirth in Riff's voice when he spoke of the elves or their goddess. “Anyway, after Haurtu was exiled from Allwyn, Daomur forbid Islmur or the elves to share the god's tongue with anyone,” Riff finished.

Ghile could not imagine what powers they must possess. The few sorcerers born to the human race were thought of as mere tinkerers. They made everflame torches, put edges on tools and weapons which hardly showed wear from use, and mended pots.

Since becoming Stonechosen, Ghile had come to understand they had more power than they shared with others. A sorcerer could force his will on the environment, making it change to his desires. But, they needed to touch a small token of whatever they affected. Riff called it the source. His belt held various 'sources' in numerous pouches and bags.

Ghile had seen Riff hurl forth a gout of flame from his hands, using his everflame as a source to fuel the magic. He'd also seen the sorcerer Almoriz control a field full of bonfires, causing their flames to take to the skies and then come back down and crash into themselves, sending burning ash everywhere. Master Almoriz had done this to cover Ghile's escape from the dwarven culler.

“As for Dagbar, I know no more than you. He is a merchant in a settlement somewhere on the edge of the Deepwood,” Riff said.

Ghile looked around him and shook his head. “I can't believe this is all really happening, Riff.”

“What do you mean?” Riff said.

“It seems like yesterday I was tending the flocks, leaning on this spear, and wishing something exciting would happen. Now look at me.”

“It sounds like you should be more careful what you wish for,” Riff suggested.

Ghile nodded, tossing small weeds into the flames as he considered.

“Do you think my family is alright?” Ghile asked.

“I'm sure they are, Ghile. Your uncle is a Fang and your father a chieftain. They will see to your people.”

“I can't believe Last Hamlet is gone. I can't help—”

“Oh no, don't start that again,” Riff interrupted. “How many times do I have to tell you; what those thrice-damned dwarves did to your village was not your fault?”

Ghile raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

The two sat there in silence, listening to Gaidel's soft humming. Ghile had just noticed Gaidel was no longer accompanied by the sounds of the fen, when she opened her eyes and stared right through him.

“To arms, we are not alone,” she called.

Gaidel sat in the relaxed position she had been trained to from her earliest days as a druid.

Most people would find sitting with their legs bent under them, their back rigid, unbearable after a few minutes, but Gaidel could maintain the position for hours.

She was not fully lost in the song. In that state she was completely enveloped and lost in its sounds, having no awareness of what went on around her. She could only remain fully in the song for a short time, for fear of being swallowed and carried away by it.

It was for that reason Gaidel practiced this technique every day. She followed the same process she used to enter the song, but stopped just before leaving her body and immersing herself.

In the beginning, she could hear nothing, the pain of the position and her mind constantly distracting her. Over time, the pain subsided and her mind calmed until she was able to detect the faintest whisper of the All Mother's dream.

Gaidel was humming along with the song, listening to its ebbs and flows. Everything that was the All Mother contributed its voice to the cacophony. The wind, with its bright full timbre, quickly danced over the slow drumming boom of the ground; the small copse of trees' warm graceful voice moved in methodical rhythm. She could also hear Riff and Ghile talking softly across the small fire from her, while also hearing Riff's own song flow by.

Gaidel felt every living creature on Allwyn had its part in the endless song of the All Mother. That was, until she met Ghile. Ghile no longer had a song.