Woman of the Stone ch 1

Emerald swayed closer to what she wanted yet could never have. Light shone through the wavy glass of a window in an isolated stone cottage. It caught an errant curl of her hair and ignited the fiery highlights. Unwilling to be discovered by the family, she stepped aside and raised the hood of a brown cloak against the winter evening. The peals of children’s laughter struck dissonant chords of joy, longing, and crushing sadness within her. Unable to resist, she touched the windowsill and watched.

“All right, little Benny, quit playing and lay down.” Amanda plucked her son from his father’s shoulders and laid him on the bed. “Husband, they’ll never sleep this way.”

Benjamin stopped tickling the middle child and set the boy on the floor. “I think your mother is jealous, Sam.” He pried a toddler from his leg. “What do you think, Leland? Shall we tickle her?”

The boys giggled and Benny jumped off the bed to join them.

“You’d better not.” Amanda laughed as her husband chased her around the room.

The little boys, all under the age of five, swarmed in and reached after her.

“I love your laugh.” Benjamin gathered her in his arms.

She stood on tiptoe for a kiss.

Emerald imagined she was the squatter’s wife and a certain merchant ship captain’s son was her husband. The image didn’t last because the shame of her unworthiness pierced the tender feelings. She had fallen in love with Liameo Hume and dreamed of marriage until the purity of her hopes had been dashed by an enemy.

The pain deepened as if to split her chest open to reveal the stone where once a heart had been. Drained, she leaned against the wall and slid to the ground. Of course, she still had a heart, that’s why she risked her life coming here tonight. She wasn’t here to eavesdrop on these farmers but to protect them.

The cottage door swung open and Benjamin grabbed her upper arms, lifted her, and slammed her against the rocks of the wall. The hood fell back as her head hit the unyielding surface. Feet swinging, she struggled.

“I told you not to come here. You attract flies like manure.” He dropped her and cast a wary gaze around the acreage in the darkness.

“I don’t stink, Ben, but the flies I draw have fangs.” The censure stung. “Take your family to safety in the castle, at least during the full moon.” She righted her cloak.

His shoulders hunched as he balled his fists and paced. “My wife believes in you and we have nowhere else to go.” He kicked a tuft of dead grass, visible in the light from the open door. “That’s why we’re squatting on your land but you’re not the ruler of me.” He stopped to point a finger. “Besides, there have been a fistful of moons since the Wolf Clan came.”

She raised a hand. “Not as many as you think, and the enemy may attack tonight. It’s the last night of the full moon.”

“If they come, then it will be for you.” He charged and shoved her backward to land with a thud. “Go away, thrice-cursed Woman of the Stone.” Ben stormed inside and slammed the door.

She stood and dusted off her trousers. Shaking her head to clear the echo of the words, she could not avoid the pain. The epithet had reopened an old wound.

The Wolf Clan sought her life at any cost but with numbers too few to threaten Stone Castle. The fiends lured her out by attacking innocent people. Her compassion would not allow her to let Ben’s family die just because he was a fool. Thus, she stayed despite the danger.

Nestled in a river valley, the embrace of winter held the surrounding trees and empty fields in stasis. Fog rolled into the clearing from hot springs that dotted the valley. Like a wave, it flooded the low-lying areas and hemmed in the cottage. Emerald did her best to put away the ache as the moisture thickened on her skin.

The moon had not yet risen. Perhaps, the enemy would not come. She drew the hood of the cloak for warmth and strode to the nearest tree line, determined to guard Amanda and the children throughout the night.

Settled in, she remained alert and watched the hazy halo of the moon appear on the horizon. A wolf howled in the distance. She grappled with a sudden sense of apprehension. There was still a chance it was simply a wolf and no men traveled with it.

The full moon climbed into view to be greeted by a chorus of howls nearby. Her heart raced. How many beasts were there?

The Wolf Clan did not have great numbers. Only two or three men attacked at once, sometimes without wolves at all. This group sounded bigger.

Dread shivered along her spine. Unswerving, she clutched the hilt of an arcane sword on her belt. Malice coiled her arm to sink fangs of power into flesh. She sensed the will of the sword. It craved vengeance.

Six men emerged from the forest to the west, each with a wolf companion. One man opened a lantern to ignite an arrow held by another who launched it. The flaming arrow ruffled the air in a blazing arc until it lodged in the thatch roof of the cottage.

Emerald advanced with grim intent. Like a specter from the grave, she held an ancient power these men could not fathom. She unclasped the cloak. It fell to the ground.

Moonlight reflected on the shaven heads of the enemy to lend them the pallor of death. Clad in furs and covered in nightmarish tattoos of ferocious animals, they brandished weapons and attacked. Their wolves surged ahead of them across the field.

Leather armor offered Emerald protection but not much. She drew the sword, aged green with patina. The sharply honed edges flashed copper in the light of the thatch fire. Young and lithe, she slit throats and spilled red heat into the night. The force of her will matched the force of her blade, fueled by the urge to protect the little boys inside the cottage.

The fog embraced her as if comprised of the ghosts of her dead clan. Savoring every slash, she finished the wolves and engaged the first savage man in death’s gruesome dance. With a slice to a carotid artery, she withdrew like a shadow and reappeared like a wraith.

The valiance of her long-dead people made her bold, though fear iced her veins. She’d never faced so many enemies at once. Even as she parried and struck, the men circled. Terror diffused inside her and she felt her wrist for the blade concealed in her sleeve. If these men captured her, then she would slide it between her ribs.

That thought crippled her with a memory.

At fourteen, she had endured an unspeakable assault at the hands of one such a man, the first she had killed. The experience rippled across her skin with horrifying sensation as if it were happening again, but she pushed it away. She preferred death before such torture.

The five remaining men capitalized on her distraction. Throat tight, her composure slipped as they cut off any possible escape. Whooping and growling, they stabbed at her, but she blocked and dodged the blows. The bowmen could have killed her with ease, so why didn’t they?

An arrow plunged into the back of the nearest swordsman. The four other men moved to investigate the new threat. Another shaft sank into the eye of an enemy. She slashed the leg of a man and rolled out of sight beneath the waist-high fog.

Two clansmen shouted and charged toward the burning cottage as the farmers fled with their sons. Flames illuminated silhouettes as the savage men engaged them. Ben shot an arrow but missed, and a warrior struck him in the neck with an ax. Amanda stabbed a kitchen knife into the man’s bicep as the other dispatched her with a crossbow.

The cries of the couple mingled with those of the children and drove Emerald forward. The little boys returned to the cottage to shelter beneath a bed. Embers fell onto the blankets and wisps of smoke swirled upward.

Horrified, Emerald slammed into the crossbowman and caused him to drop his weapon in the fog. Nothing mattered except defeating these men in order to save the children. The roof crackled and sparks flew as the axeman pulled Amanda’s knife.

Arterial spray filled the air with the smell of copper. Emerald slashed his chest, pleased when the furs offered no protection. Rolling to a squat position, she parried the crossbowman’s dagger and stepped behind to draw her blade through his bowels until his spine severed.

The final foe hobbled toward her, dragging a leg due to the wound she had delivered moments ago. She knocked the sword from his hand and struck off his head. With the arcane blade’s desire for blood quenched, it released her. Without hesitation, she dropped it to the earth, glad to be rid of it for a time.

Smoke-filled the cottage and sparks rained as Emerald ran to the children. The tender-aged boys screamed as she pulled them from beneath the bed. Blood dripped into an eye. Realizing how she must look, she wiped her face with the bedding.

“I’m here to help. Climb on my back, Benny.”

Hesitant until he saw the flames, the oldest boy clung to her.

Faint, she picked up Sam and Leland and staggered into the fresh air. She gained her bearings and followed an animal trail through the woods as she ascended the foothills of the Impenetrable Mountains. The safety of her home wasn’t far away.

Though her muscles burned, she pressed forward until Stone Castle loomed above the tree line. Crossing a meadow, she ducked at the whistle of an unseen arrow. The boys cried, and she gulped air, running until drenched in sweat. Silently, she prayed Benny could hold on. His death grip around her neck simultaneously reassured and strangled her.

Optimism surged as she burst from the forest to behold the silver fields and black moat around the gray granite curtain wall of the castle. Tiny motes of light swirled in her vision and her head wobbled. The narrow drawbridge lay extended, but the gates stood shut.

“Stephan, the enemy pursues.” Clear-voiced she hailed the gatehouse.

Her footfalls pounded on the planks of the drawbridge. To her relief, the cumbersome wooden doors opened. Once inside, she collapsed to her knees.

Two adolescent boys pushed the gates closed and secured the crossbar.

“Em, shall we drop the portcullis?” Stephan’s fair hair shone in the moonlight.

Breathless, she leaned against the gatehouse masonry. The children in her arms trembled with fright and cold. Stephan took Benny and touched her shoulder.

She caught her breath. “Sound the alarm and take defensive positions.”

Stephan set Benny on the cobblestones and hurried after Rick.

“Come with me, Benny.” She adjusted her hold on Sam and Leland and lugged the boys toward the keep.

With a whimper, Benny followed. Eager to warm the children, she climbed the steps and pushed open the door with a forearm. Benny shivered violently as he came inside and she booted the door closed.

“Nina?” She set Sam and Leland on the tied-rag rug in front of the fire.

Benny joined them.

Outside, the gatehouse bell rang. Everyone across the border in the foreign village of Meadowgren would be alerted. She held no illusions about anyone coming to help, their laws forbade them, but perhaps someone would heed the warning and escape the fate of these boys’ parents.

“I’m here, Em.”

A plain, slender girl of twelve years unfolded from a cushioned chair beside the fire, dropping a large, leather-bound book to the wood floor with a thud. She picked it up with haste and wrapped a shawl around her patched and mended nightgown.

“The squatters’ sons need care, and I must help fend off the Wolf Clan. They’re really stirred up this time.” Emerald knelt by the children and wiped their tears. “You’re safe now. Nina will give you something warm to drink.”

“They’re filthy, Em.” Nina held a stern expression.

“Very well.” Emerald ruffled Benny’s strawberry-blond curls. “Feed them, bathe them, and put them to bed.”

She had watched over the family since last spring. The look of loss in Benny’s eyes caused her heart to swell, but she refused to allow those feelings to distract her from the responsibility to protect every orphan in the castle. Intent on her duty at the wall, she crossed the room with purposeful strides.

“Take a cloak.” Nina headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Emerald grabbed one from a peg by the door, along with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Advanced skill with the longbow enabled her to strike from the relative safety of the curtain-wall of the castle. If more of the Wolf Clan dared attack, then she would delight in ending their lives.

Once outside the keep, she noted the night sky. It would be hours before the dawn-stars crept into view. Upon the morning, the children would likely be safe for another moon cycle, because the Wolf Clan preferred to move during the height of a full moon.

Perhaps, they viewed it as lucky. However, her people, before they had been wiped out, had called it a death moon. Over the past forty years, there had been no luck in it for the Stone Clan.

She breathed the frosty air and tread in silence on the steps up the castle wall. At the top, she approached Stephan where he crouched behind the snaggletooth crenellations. His attention was focused on the fields.

“Have you seen anything?”

Startled, he dropped a nocked arrow from a bow.

Suppressing a laugh, she took a position from which she could see an enemy should they approach.

He sighed and his posture relaxed. “No, Em. I think you’re the lucky one.” He pointed a gloved finger at her face. “You have blood smeared on your cheek.”

She winced and drew the hood of the short cloak to conceal it. The thought of blood on her skin stirred dark memories of the first man she had killed and the gore on her afterward. She resisted the compulsion to scrub her face with her palms even as her nostrils flared with the remembered stench.

“I thought I wiped it away.” She scanned the tree line for the enemy but found none. “In all seriousness, I didn’t expect an attack tonight. It’s been a long time.” She didn’t want to frighten him with the fact there had been more of the savages than normal.

“Several moons at least, Em. Nina could say, she keeps track of all your close calls. I suppose she was awake,” he said.

“Reading a volume of text by the fire.” Emerald shook her head. “I wish she wouldn’t worry.”

An icy gust took their breath away and caused them to crouch lower. No arrow could reach this height unless the archer stood in the open, but the frozen gales descending the cliffs of the Impenetrable Mountains provided reason enough to take cover. Stephan was bundled in the knitted over-shirt she had made for him and a fur-lined cloak.

“Did the parents survive?” He shifted position to look in her direction.

A young man of sixteen years, slight of build though coming into his strength, he never lacked for courage. It took courage to ask her things. She guarded her secrets well.

“No.” The white puff of her breath clouded the air. “They died bravely.”

“You mean needlessly.” He snorted. “You warned the man last spring not to squat, and what did he do? He shoved you off of land he had the nerve to claim as his own.” Stephan scowled. “The stupid squatter should never have talked that way. Your word is law. He should have listened.”

“He saved my life,” she said.

Stephan’s jaw fell open and then clamped shut. “How?”

“An arrow to the back of a clansman and the eye of another.”

Stephan shook his head. “No. That farmer couldn’t hit what he aimed at for all the apples in an orchard. It was your protector, wasn’t it?”

“I sensed nothing.”

“I can’t explain that, but I’ve seen someone,” Stephan said.

“Who?”

“I don’t know, a shadow, and tracks. I’ve noticed footprints.” He shrugged.

“It’s possible.” She frowned in concentration. “The angle was slightly off for the arrows to have come from the cottage doorway.”

“It was him then.” Stephan peered at the tree line. “I imagine he’s out there right now.”

She sighed and knelt, sitting on her heels, confident she had seen nothing like what Stephan described. Born with a talent for sensing the presence of others, she could avoid conflict. On the opposite hand, she could easily ambush an enemy. Within a certain range, she knew who and where a person was.

“If it makes you feel better to think so, then fine.” What could it hurt to let him believe it?

In fact, it was possible that the idea comforted Stephan. If she had a protector who ensured she would return home safely, then he wouldn’t worry as much when she took these risks. After all, he depended on her, as did all the orphans here. She was the only adult among them, and heir to Danalan. Without her, the Andolin Judge in Meadowgren might send the Militia to oust them.

“George has seen something too. He says it’s a man with a dark beard. He almost caught him once.” Stephan smiled mischievously. “I think he’s a mountain man.”

“Ridiculous. Mountain men are invisible.” She was only teasing.

“That’s what they say, but Timothy was telling me about his brother—”

“He’s just a little boy who makes up stories. That’s all we have, Stephan. The mountains are sealed.” She didn’t like to talk about the dead.

Stephan arched an eyebrow. “Then we sure have wasted an excessive amount of time learning their language.”

“Point taken.” The need to learn languages was politically relevant as well as a tradition.

A ghostly vision clouded her mind as she remembered Ben’s words. Had he truly been so callous and ungrateful? The women of Andolin could not own land, so she comprehended the resentment of the laws of Danalan that made her ruler over everything. Surely, he understood that if she had informed the Andolin authorities, then he would have been executed simply for entering Danalan.

It was clear that dire circumstances had driven Ben and Amanda to leave their homeland. That was why she had decided to let them stay. She understood a similar kind of desperation because most of her twenty years had been a struggle for survival.

All of her family had been murdered and now she ruled alone. If not for these foreign orphans, then Danalan culture would die. Unfortunately, she was not permitted under Andolin law to adopt them unless she married. Thus, it was imperative she marry. But she couldn’t bring herself to accept any man in that way.

“I didn’t care about them squatting.” Her voice fell flat.

“I did.” Stephan hunched his shoulders against another blast of wind.

“Grandfather once said my family filled Danalan with crops and herds and passels of children, all boys until my birth.” She clenched her jaw. “I changed everything.”

“He told me the Wolf Clan attacked long before you were born. You’re not to blame, Em.”

She pressed her lips in a thin line. Stephan was wrong. She couldn’t explain why the Wolf Clan had appeared before her birth but she knew they had come because of her. A secret shame told her this. The enemy who had raped her had said as much.

“At least you saved the children.” Moonlight refracted off the granite walls to illuminate his face beneath the hood.

“The Stones have always welcomed orphans.” She stared across the empty fields. “It’s our way.”

Would the goodness and generosity of Danalan culture end with her death? She looked at Stephan’s youthful face and hope renewed. One day, he would carry on these traditions in the northern land of Frenland, beyond the Impenetrable Mountains, when he took his place as king.

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