Into the Stone Land Read Free

imaging. He and his people were one with the moving lands. How could one know a house was occupied if the land beneath it did not shudder in such a way to tell him so? How could one know when it was safe to make a leap from one side of a deep wading to the other if the shifting land did not disclose it was time? How could one feel a bull’s lope or a slither’s crawl if the vibrations did not reveal it?
    A distant whisper from another time spoke to him. “Find control, Tall. Focus, live.” As ever, these were the smoot’s words. As the eldest in the village, the smoot knew all and saw all. He carried word of lore and law. He prepared boys to become men. He spoke for the great tree and the great tree spoke with his voice.
    â€œFocus, live,” Tall repeated to himself. He touched the back of his hand to his own forehead, found that he was burning with fever as well. He checked his wounds. The mud caking his calf had dried, sealing the cuts and gashes beneath.
    Keene wasn’t so fortunate. His shoulder wasn’t his only deep wound. He had others which still bled, and no doubt they were the reason for his current state. Tall tried to stand, found he couldn’t put his weight on his bad leg even with his staff as an aid. He crawled to his pack, pulled free the container attached to the bottom and wrapped the container’s cord around his neck. He made his way to the wet using his arms and good leg, dragging his right leg behind.
    He filled the container, made his way back to Keene’s side. He washed the other’s wounds before caking them with mud. This time he ensured that he spread the mud in thick layers, waiting each time for the bleeding to stop, as Keene had done for him.
    A deep growl from his belly reminded him of how hungry he was. He crawled to his pack, undid the top, and took out several long, dark roots. He chewed small pieces of the root but did not swallow. Instead he spit the chewed root into his hand and fed this to Keene, using the container’s contents to help Keene wash down the root. The process was long and slow and enough to lull him to sleep. He awoke to find the mid-day sun overhead, but it wasn’t the sun that awoke him—it was the sound of nestlings hatching that did.
    Crawling over to the nest at the far side of the residence, he found the dead queen draped over the nest. The queen had given the nestlings the final warmth needed to hatch, but without the queen and the bull the nestlings would die. Tall knew this, and yet he vowed to save them all—as he also vowed to save Keene. With his hands, he ripped open the queen’s belly and helped the nestlings feed on the queen’s own flesh. The guilt of the deed would gnaw at him later, much as the nestlings would soon gnaw upon their mother.
    The glowing ball of the sun reflected across the surface of the deep pool caught Tall’s eye. He stared out at the great beyond and a breath caught in his throat as his gaze found the three massive arbors and the large pools they shaded. Although the gnarled and twisted trunks and branches of the arbors dominated the horizon, the long roots stretching into the deep were what Tall studied. The rounds and hollows made by the roots were filled with nests, and those nests were guarded by queens whose bulls were sunning nearby. It was a sight he had scarcely dared hope to see, and seeing it now he knew the stories told during festivals around the village fire did not do it justice.
    Across the waters he saw a towering structure with a domed roof and spire that none of the stories spoke of. Though it looked as ancient as the trees and showed no signs of decay, it did not belong in this sacred site, and he wondered about those who made such a thing in such a place. Did they not understand the power and magic of the place? It was lost and deep for a reason and it was not meant to be looked upon by the unworthy. One was meant to sweat and to bleed, if