Possessing the Grimstone

Possessing the Grimstone - By John Grover

Chapter 1


“The First People traded their wings so that we may fish in the rivers and farm in the fields. It is because of them that we now run across those same rivers and span the fields in the blink of an eye.” –Old Wivering legend told from generation to generation.





1200 Years Ago



The winged man raced through the air, his heart threatening to burst from his chest, wings fatigued, and arms aching from the weight of his load. He spun through the clouds and ascended even higher still. He was charged with a mission that could not fail.

In his talons, he carried a piece of the stone, a third of it. The smooth surface glinted emerald green in the sunlight, the white carving of the Grim Rune was unreadable in its current form. To hold the piece actually dimmed his heart and tugged at his soul, but it was time.

The pieces could not be destroyed, but they could be lost, hidden from those who walked the ground, or swam in the seas: those who would put it back together and harness the light and the dark, and perform miracles that should not be. They would enact deeds that no sane person should witness, and rule over a world that had nearly lost its soul.

He was commanded to not tell the other two where he would take his piece, and it had to be done quickly before it was missed. The magic that separated the stone would eventually die, and then the stone could reunite. That was why the pieces had to be moved as far away as possible from one another.

After, none were to ever speak of it. No one in the world would know where all three pieces lay at rest.

He went east, passing over the salt lands to the Red Coast and across the Fifling Sea, where the mist hung lazily on the horizon. His people never flew out beyond the mist, and now he was lost within it. They weren’t sure what was on the other side of it—it obscured what may lie beyond. It swirled and rolled as if alive, but never faded away, never burned out in the light of the sun.

The mist reached out to him in tendrils, threatening to coil around his arms and legs. He wasn’t sure if it was truly alive, or if the piece of stone had unusual effects on it. He tried to soar higher, but the mist only followed him.

He pushed on, flapping harder and harder, panting. There was something solid in the distance, a shadowy shape. He thought it might be land: perhaps islands, or primordial forests, or subterranean caves. He raced toward it.

The mist thinned, and he saw it at last. He stopped mid-flight. A burst of energy shattered around him. Was it magic? The remnants latched onto his flesh, singed his feathers, tore at his warrior’s mask, clamped onto his talons, and pulled him down.

A scream escaped him as pain surged through every fiber of his being. His soul split into two, and he fell from the violent sky.

The piece of stone tumbled from his grip and into the unknown.

###

Today—the Year of the Ram’s Horn by the Wivering Calendar



Pim worked in the field with his father and younger brother. Their yellow-blond hair glinted in the sun, the same color of every Wivering’s hair from the smallest child, to the most wise and elderly.

His stunning blue eyes focused on weeding out the fire grass from around the rows of wheat. Sometimes, at night, when the moon was visible, his eyes glowed in the dark. Pim was one out of every ten males whose eyes did this. His dad’s did not, nor his brother’s.

He looked back at them, harvesting blue corn into their sacks, and wondered why his brother always got the easy work.

Only because he’s younger, He thought to himself. But I learned to tend rows, as well as to gather before his age. They baby him.

Pim finished the last row, and, with a spring in his step, dashed to his father and brother in under a second, using the natural ability all of his people had: the power of fleet.

“Pim,” His father looked up at him sternly. “Do not use the fleet so casually. It will tire you quickly.”

“Sorry, Father, I didn’t want to miss the rest of the harvesting with you and Tal. Is there any left to do?”

“A little over there. And don’t run.”

“Yes, Father.” Pim put down his hoe and picked up a sack. He walked slowly, normally, to a cluster of stalks, and pulled at the blue corn.

His father and brother finished their haul and started back to the farmhouse with its thatched roof and shuttered windows. A small wooden post and rail fence surround the yard with a gate. Inside the fenced area, a few spotted swine with short, blunt tusks and a regal-feathered fowl scavenged and played.

The swine were great at eating weeds and keeping the yard free of pests, while the fowl chased off any predators that approached the fence. The fowl’s call was an alarming shriek that scared off most, and if that didn’t do it, the razor tips of its feathers did.

Pim hurried to pluck the rest of the corn from their stalks and stuff them into his bag. He looked back at his father and brother who had already crossed the yard. The idea of using his fleet of foot crossed his thoughts again, but he did not want to anger his father. He stuffed his bag full and rushed back home with ordinary speed.

Entering the home, he observed his family. His mother seemed delighted with this season’s bounty; she wiped her hands on her apron and began rifling through the corn. Every now and again, she’d crush a silk beetle between her fingers.

A small whimper from the cradle in the kitchen drew her away to tend to Pim’s baby sister, Aya.

“Mama?” Pim threw his sack of corn up on their table of Beetwood. “Will you make corn pudding this time?”

She turned to him and smiled.

Pim’s brother’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, please, Mama. I love your corn pudding.”

“It has been a long time since you made it,” Pim reminded.

“We’ll see.” She pulled Aya into her lap to feed her. “We must make sure there is enough meal, porridge, stuffing for birds, breads, and feed for the swine before I can make pudding.”

“And enough token to the Mulcavrii,” Pim’s father said.

Pim looked over to the hearth where a small fire crackled, and a stew simmered in a pot made from iron shipped from the Silver Coast to the West. Above the hearth, carved into the stone, was the image of a man with wings. There was one above every hearth in every Wivering’s home.

What do they need with blue corn? They’re all extinct.

“Such a sad face,” his mother said. “I said we would see. Don’t give up hope so easily.”

Pim cracked a smile, and then started husking the corn for his mother to prepare.

His father made his way past him to the hearth and tied three ears of corn to the mantle to dry out. Those would be their token this season.

Tal forgot all about the corn and the pudding and went to play with his ball and staff.

“Not in the house, Tal,” his mother said. “Take the toys outside.”

“But the regal-feathered fowl chases me when I toss the ball.”

“Then go outside the fence—but stay by the house. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

He rolled his eyes and vanished outside into the yard.

Pim sat on a stool with a blade, carving a piece of darkwood into a totem.

“One day, you’ll make a fine journeyman,” his father said.

Pim sighed. “This is just for fun. I don’t want to join the order of Thet.”

“It’s a noble order.”

“No doubt… but it is not my calling.”

“What is your calling, son?”

“I have not discovered it yet.”

“Then you know not if the order of Thet is for you.”

“I may want to join the warrior sect and protect our lands.”

“Protect them from what? No one makes war on us.”

“They may one day. The lands of the North and South have many people. Many who are stronger than us, many with dark gods from the blackened skies and fire pits. They have made war with themselves.”

“Nonsense.”

“It is true. Just because you never leave Gonnish doesn’t mean there aren’t dangers out there. Maybe in Bhrungach, or Glenghora. What of the Black Spires of Cardoon? No one knows what lurks within the city of Cardoon. We only know that it is home to a great government with kings and queens.”

“These things are not our concern. We have no business in Cardoon. We are a neutral people who lead simple lives. Gonnish has been blessed to be shielded from the troubles in the North and South. Our place is here to follow the path the First People set before us: the bounty, and the spiritual path of the order of Thet. If you wish for trouble, Pim, trouble will find you.”

“I do not wish for trouble. I just do not want to live in ignorance. Our innocence can be our weakness.”

“Hold on to your innocence, son,” his mother said. “It has kept our people true to themselves.”

“But for how long?”

“Pim, we are Wiverings,” his father continued. “Our line does not follow those paths. If war comes to us, we use the fleet of foot to protect and outsmart our enemies. That is why the First People left us their gift.”

“It can be used for more than avoiding conflict. It can be offensive, stealthy, amazing. I’ve heard our kind can run across deep water without falling in, and leap into the clouds like they’re flying.”

“Myths.”

“What if they’re not? We could be more powerful than what we think we are.”

“That is why the North and the South make war: because of thoughts and ideas like these. I will speak no more of it.” His father waved him off.

“But Father, I only speak my thoughts.”

“Enough, Pim. If you do not wish to be in the order of Thet, you will need to learn a new trade: blacksmithing, or carpentry. If not those, then you will have to take over the farm when I am gone. Take care of your mother, brother, and sister.”

Pim lowered his head and said no more. He returned to his carving and listened to the crackle of the fire.

###

After dinner, Pim joined his friends, Ono and Arc, at the Plathor River. It was dusk, and the moon was just rising over the whispering trees.

“Go on, run,” Ono said to Pim. “You’re the one who said you could run across it without falling in.”

“It can be done,” Pim replied. “We just need to focus the energy of the fleet.”

“It’s a myth,” Arc said. “My father said it’s just a story they used to tell each other to feel like our people were special and magical.”

“It’s real. I can feel it.” Pim stared at the roaring river. The current moved quickly, the mid-point looked so far away. He picked up a stone and tossed it across the surface of the water. It skipped three times, and then plopped into the water.

“See, that’s going to be you,” Ono said with a grin.

“You’re all just afraid, scared little snow doves.”

“Show us, then,” Arc said, clapping him on the back.

A ray of moonlight glimmered over the river. Pim prepared to run, but hesitated, sucking in air, and then releasing it.

“Your eyes are glowing,” Ono said to him.

“See,” Pim replied. “It’s a sign. Neither of your eyes glow. Watch and learn, boys…”

Pim took a few steps back, held his breath, balled his hands into fists, and ran. He let out his breath as he hit the water. His legs carried him across the shore in a blink of an eye. He moved like the wind nearly to the middle of the river, and fell feet first into the water.

Something moved past him as he sank. It slithered around his leg. Pim panicked and pushed to the surface as fast as he could.

His head bobbed, and the current took him, water filling his mouth, and he swallowed. He looked over at the embankment and saw Ono and Arc waving to him, terror in their eyes.

Pim went under again, shooting down the river. Again and again he would rise above the water, but each time he tried to cry out, his mouth would fill with water.

Past the thrashing, he saw his two friends again, dashing across the edge of the river, outrunning the current.

Pim sank once more, and then thrust his feet off a jagged stone. He broke the surface and reached out for the tree branch his friends had thrust out into the water.

Ono and Arc pulled with all of their might, dragging Pim out of the current until he could wade safely to the shore.

He stood, his bare feet sinking into the gritty sand that glinted in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” Ono asked.

Pim opened his mouth to speak, but instead spit out water. Then he collapsed.

###

When Pim woke, his mother was sitting beside his bed. Concern filled her eyes. “I’m okay,” he whispered.

She wiped his brow with a damp cloth, and, without a word, left the room. His father appeared in her wake.

“You abused the fleet again, didn’t you? What have I told you, Pim? Over and over again! You cannot run upon the water. Stop being so foolish.”

“I almost made it.”

“You almost drowned. When are you going to give up these childish games? You are almost eighteen, now. Almost a man. It is time for you to behave like one, and think about finding your place in this world. There will come a time when your sister and mother will depend on you.”

“You don’t understand, Father.”

“I don’t think you understand. The First People left us their gifts to follow in their purity. Must I remind you of the teaching?”

“Oh, by Thet, himself…”

“The First People traded their wings so that we may fish in the rivers and farm in the fields. It is because of them that we now span the fields in the blink of an eye.”

Pim rolled his eyes and turned over. “I need to rest, Father, I’m feeling sickly.”

“So be it.”

He listened to his father’s soft steps exit the room, and the door creak shut behind him. Outside his bedroom window, the stars danced about the night sky, and the moon grew round and fat. He had heard that the light of the stars moved faster than any known thing in the world. That was what he wanted: to move with the stars.

###

On the Red Coast to the east, Tolan of Cardoon rode among the rocky shore of the Fifling Sea, a beach devoid of life and vegetation, a barren red rock and rust-filled arm stretching from horizon to horizon. The red rock and rust sand gave the coast its name.

He looked across the water at the wall of clouds and mist that forever blocked travel and exploration of anything that existed on the Eastern Point—if anything existed at all. He carried his city’s banner with pride, the tip of it a razor sharp spear, should any trouble arise on his journey. Even so, there was always his trusty saber resting in its sheath at his side.

A gentle breeze stirred the banner and caressed his face. The clouds rolled within each other, never diminishing, ever moving toward land. It was as if the morning sun and wind had no affect on them.

Tolan had observed them over the years many times, and they always unnerved him, as if they were hiding something. He suspected that they were.

A low rumble of thunder caught the knight’s attention. He stopped his steed and waited. The thunder grew louder, and a flash of lightning rose from the sea to the sky. It was most unsettling.

Storms often formed over the Fifling Sea, but today it just seemed different. Light crackled inside the wall of mist. Tolan watched with interest, but soon the light faded, and the thunder dwindled.

He decided to report the activity back to the High Guard of Cardoon. It was probably nothing to worry about, but it was his duty as a member of the Circle Guard. Belonging to the Circle meant looking for threats or dangers to Cardoon on a journey every third week to the Eastern Point. Two members of the guard would take turns heading out of the city each week, splitting up. One would ride to the east and travel the Gravik’s Spade, a region of chasms and cliffs in the shape of a spade that cut directly into the lowlands, named after the farmers of Cardoon’s God of the harvest. Then they’d head through the salt lands, making their way to the Red Coast. The other rider would head north to the borders of Bhrungach, monitoring the on and off wars between the North and the South before heading past the Lake Lands to the Red Coast.

Each rider would pass the other and head back to Cardoon, reporting if anything was amiss. The lands of the west and far south were out of the jurisdiction of the city boundaries; they were ruled by the Wivering of Gonnish and the people of the M’illium Fells. The Fells were great mountains of magic where the warrior mages of D’Elkyrie made their cloud-capped homes. Between Gonnish and M’illium Fells, many rolling green hills sprouted with a network of rivers and marshes. Yagmire Hills was the biggest of these, and was home to many Wood Sprites and Gnomes.

Tolan rode on, galloping across the beach and making his way to the Lake Lands with its host of small villages and fishing towns. He wondered about the wall of mist and why it had always been there. What was it hiding? Was there anything beyond? No one had ever been through it. It was thought to be impassible. Not a single boat dared to sail into the wall for fear of never returning. Any trade or sailing expedition stuck straight to the coastline and traveled north to south, or vice versa. There was always the Baltha Sea, but no one in Cardoon had much use for it: it was only a trade route between the west and the island lands of Norrow.

He looked back on the mist before riding out of its view. The land began to transform into fields, grassy knolls, and even a forest. He followed a path through Llewallen Forest and spotted his best friend in all the Circle Guard, Geyess, heading toward him.

“Whoa,” Tolan called to his steed. He put his hand up to Geyess. “Good to see you, my friend.”

“And you, as well,” Geyess said, pulling his horse to a stop. “How is your journey?”

“Uneventful. And you? How do the Lake Lands fair?”

“Quiet. The villages barely noticed me, and the raids from the South seemed to have stopped. At least for now.”

“Very good. And what of Bhrungach?”

“I didn’t get close enough to find out. You know what those Northerners think of us.”

Tolan laughed. “That I do. They’d serve us spoiled meat and sour milk and call it good hospitality before showing us the door.”

Geyess smiled. “I hope the Red Coast behaves itself on my pass.”

“I feel it will.”

“Those clouds of mist always make my blood run cold.”

“Just don’t look them in the eyes…” Tolan smirked, and Geyess shook his head. “I am off to report back to the city.”

“Safe journey to you.”

“And to you. See you at home.”

The two friends departed, and Tolan continued on his forest path. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of the first lake within the Lake Lands.

###

The massive gates of Cardoon opened, allowing Tolan entry. He rode past the farmlands on the outskirts of the city. Peasants made homes in the fields, and sold their harvest once a week inside the city’s walls. They grew all manner of vegetables and fruit, and bred livestock for meat. Each knight that went out of the gate had to endure the markets and bazaars: all the peddlers lined up to sell food, clothes, wine, and jewels.

Tolan moved through them all without losing a coin, and entered the city confines. He strolled into the first courtyard, and returned his banner to its rightful place upon the pedestals lining the pathway.

He was greeted by the High Guardsman, Jorrel. “Hark, Tolan, what news do you bring us?”

Tolan dismounted and shook Jorrel’s hand. “I saw lightning in the misty clouds of the Fifling Sea.”

“Lightning?” Jorrel confirmed. “Was there thunder?”

Tolan nodded.

“Well, a storm over the sea is no cause for fret. It does happen from time to time.”

“It has been quite some time since any thunder was heard in those clouds.”

“True, but a natural occurrence, nonetheless.”

“It wasn’t thunder.” A voice rasped behind them.

Tolan turned to see the cloaked mage standing with a grimoire in his hands. His dusty frock and cowl flapped in the breeze. He had a grave look on his face as he stormed over to them.

“Sooth-Malesh, what brings you down from the spires?”

“The news young Tolan brings, of course.”

“There is no news. You should go back to your brews and luck stones.”

“Fool, that was no thunder. No lightning. Describe this lightning to me, Tolan.”

“Of course, Sooth-Malesh. It rose from the water through to the clouds. Then the inside crackled with light.”

“Crackled with light,” Sooth-Malesh said, raising his eyebrow. “Lightning does not behave in this manner. It was not lightning. Something is breaking through the mist. There is magic use afoot.”

“I’m not sure if it was magic,” Tolan replied. “But it was strange.”

“Strange, indeed. It was something trying to break through. We are all in grave danger. The city—nay—the lands should be put on alert.”

“I’m not putting the city on alert for natural phenomena,” Jorrel said.

“It wasn’t natural. Something on the other side is coming.”

“There is nothing on the other side. The land ends at the Red Coast. There is nothing but water. Beyond this mist, the world ends. That’s why no ships have ever sailed through it. We are in no danger.”

“You’re wrong, High Guardsman. We are all in danger. Something is coming. Heed my words. Warn the King!”

“I’m sorry, Sooth-Malesh. I cannot do that. Please, return to the spires.”

“You’re fools… all of you. You will remember this day when you did not heed my words.”

“Of course.” Jorrel nodded as Sooth-Malesh turned and wandered back through the courtyard.

“He’s quite upset,” Tolan said.

“He’s always upset. Always raving about something. The end is coming, the end is coming.”

“Well, it was strange. The way the clouds lit up was something I had never seen.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t natural.”

###

In the top of the tallest black spire, Sooth-Malesh slammed his grimoire onto his pedestal. Dust puffed into a cloud from beneath the book. He flipped it open, and turned each page of parchment. He studied the various energy fields of magic, and looked over the after effects and the residual energy. He re-read about the mist and the legends surrounding it. He then found the page with the most powerful magical item of all: the Grimstone. The only one of its kind, a war that almost tore the fabric of their world apart was fought over it. The stone could not be destroyed, nor could it be kept in storage by any living thing. Thus, the First People managed to break it into three pieces, and had hid them in secret, scattered throughout the world.

Only one thing could get through that mist: magic from the Grimstone. Even one piece of the stone could probably do it. It had to be what was attempting to break through the misty wall. Once whatever it was got through, then what?

Sooth-Malesh shut the book. He ran to his crystals and laid them on the work table before him. He wove a withered hand over them, but nothing happened. He lit a candle and gazed into its flame. No vision came.

“I’m being blocked,” he said with trembling lips. He was even more alarmed than before.