Fire Pool

Fire Pool

Part One of

Prophecy Stones

By

David E Owen

Copyright 2013 by David E Owen

Smashwords Edition

David E Owen asserts his right to be recognised as the author of this novel, Fire Pool. All characters and locations are fictional and any resemblance to anyone, living or deceased, is coincidental.

Mundo

Fire Pool - Part 1

Nesta squeezed under the fallen pillar of a broken archway, the space tight even for her, a ten-year-old. Her face pressed hard into the dusty earth, her fingers scrabbling at the dusty ground to pull herself forward; she had to wriggle her body to force her way through. Once on the other side she had room to raise herself to her knees and crouch behind a shattered wall, watching the two strange men on the Parade Ground below.

She considered the consequences in calling out to them: she was desperate for human company but had approached other strangers before, finding them horrid, evil men – monsters - every one of them. Some had come alone and others in twos or threes, but they had all come to pilfer, to take what they could from amongst the ruins. When Nesta used her Magic to search their minds, she'd discovered the bitterness that lurked deep in their subconscious, always blaming others for their misfortunes. But, by entering their minds to see their inner thoughts, she had also alerted them to her presence, and the strangers had abandoned their plundering of the broken houses to try to catch her, intent on her becoming their possession. She had run and hid, using her knowledge of the city to escape, desperately sliding into places where they couldn’t follow. Some of the pursuits had been relentless though, the men shouting threats of what they would do with her if they caught her. The worst one hadn’t stopped, even when she’d hid in a tiny hole, deep under rubble. He’d dug out her hiding place until finally she’d used her Power to hurt him, making him realise at last that she would never be a plaything or slave, possessing too much Magic for him to be able to control her. That had been three weeks ago but, even after she’d watched him leave, Nesta had slept badly for days, thinking she could hear someone creeping up to her sleeping place. Only the voice of the old woman in her mind, calming her, had kept her sane. Now she was reluctant to let anyone know of her survival alone in the city.

Nesta thought that these two men might be different. She could only go on their appearance but their faces didn't frighten her with the desperate wantonness she had seen on the faces of the men before them. They hadn’t gone to the broken houses or Administration Building to steal and, in fact, had wandered only a short distance from their carriage, looking around, not moving far from the city walls.

Hello! yelled one of the men, putting his hands to his mouth to amplify his voice. Nesta knew he wasn't shouting specifically at her, as he was aiming his call to one side of where she was hidden. He was simply finding out if anyone would answer.

Hello! Is anyone there? he shouted again. We know you’re out there somewhere, we’ve been told to fetch you. Nesta frowned. She wondered if they did know she was there, or else why call out like that to a dead city. She decided not to answer, believing that no-one knew for certain that she was there.

The men passed close to an old horse trough in their wandering around, hardly glancing at it. Nesta tensed: a small Pysgot lay hidden beneath the water. The men didn’t seem aware of the danger of being too close to water. She decided against shouting a warning; if the Pysgot attacked, she had the skills to cure poisoning and close wounds, so she waited.

Within her mind she held a picture of the map of the city on which she tracked all the living beings within the walls: her thoughts were linked to every creature that lived within its boundaries, though none of them was aware of her knowledge. She watched, in her thoughts, as the Pysgot moved beneath the water. It moved silently to the edge of the trough, near to where the men stood, approaching carefully to avoid disturbing the water and attracting their attention. The men were oblivious, but its movement was enough to alert Nesta.

Hellooo! We've come to fetch you. Show yourself if you can hear! We won't hurt you. The last words made Nesta more determined to stay hidden. They were the same words the evil man had shouted just before he had started digging out her hiding hole, muttering angrily as he worked.

The men stepped away from the trough, out of the range of the Pysgot and Nesta sensed it settling to the bottom once again to await another chance.

Her concentration turned to the Scratchers hiding in the rocks behind the men. Again she was surprised that neither man had noticed these creatures, for their movements were far less subtle than the Pysgot’s and so easy to follow. She had to assume from their lack of awareness that the travellers were Belongers and had no Magic to anticipate threats or check if anything was tracking them. Thinking that they didn't have Magic comforted her: if that were true they wouldn’t be able to trace her thoughts back to her position, even if they became aware of her mind linking with theirs. Still, she hesitated about entering their consciousness; they might just be more cunning than the men before and were trying to make her feel safe, to reveal herself to them. She wouldn’t allow such trickery to fool her.

The Scratchers moved closer. Four of them had manoeuvred themselves to a place above and behind the men, looking down at them from the top of a broken wall. The men appeared to be using the wall to protect their backs. Nesta shook her head, bewildered by their stupidity. They were allowing the Scratchers to get closer for an attack, shielded from the men’s sight by the wall. Other Scratchers were moving to either end of it, preparing a three-pronged assault.

Scratchers were small and moved quickly, raking with sharp claws, ripping with their angled fangs: Scratcher teeth inclined inwards to scrape meat from bones. Nesta was good at healing wounds but Scratcher bites would be extra deep and difficult to heal, slicing through nerves and muscles. An attack by twenty of these creatures would be impossible to fend off completely, even for two armed adults: they would be sure to receive injuries.

The Scratchers inched closer, the four on the wall practically sitting above the men’s heads, peering over at them. Nesta grimaced at her own impulse to help, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake by interfering, but if the Scratchers injured the men badly enough, then any hope of her own escape would be lost. She poked her right hand through the rubble, pointing her outstretched fingers at the wall behind the men. She pulled on her Power and released a small pulse of Energy at a spot directly above the men’s heads. Several loose stones moved under the Scratchers, pushed by her Magic and collapsed, making the Scratchers tumble off their perch, squealing wildly in surprise. The stones crashed noisily, making the animals below yelp loudly and leap away, scampering off in fright. The men turned sharply at the sound, searching, seeing nothing that could have caused the collapse. One Scratcher, confused by the collapse and the noise, appeared briefly at the side of the wall, exposing its position. One man yelled and bent down, reaching for a stone to throw it at the startled creature. The stone missed but thudded hard against the wall, frightening the other Scratchers, making them squeal and dart in all directions. Both men bent and picked up more stones to throw at the pack before checking behind the wall for other creatures. Nesta smiled at the scene; these were no warriors but she admired their bravery in coming to this place with no Magic to protect them.

The men conferred, surveying the city once more and then started back towards their carriage.

Nesta felt a sudden, inexplicable loss at their departure. Every visitor to Rant had initially given her some hope that they could take her to another city or town, to go where people lived and worked and each time her hope had been dashed. She had never been out of Rant and was frightened of a long journey into the unknown by herself. At least in Rant she knew of places where she could hide. Somehow, though, these two had raised her hopes higher than those before. These two had seemed different from the others, but still her experiences urged her to remain cautious.

As Nesta watched them approach their carriage, the voice of the old woman came once more into her mind, calming her. It had been a week since the woman’s last visit into her thoughts and Nesta listened carefully. This was the voice that had told her where to hide when the attacking soldiers came to destroy the city; this was the voice that had guided her through her darkest troubles, showing her where to find food and clean water. Through the lonely months, the same, recognisable voice had taught her about herbs and plants and the mixing of their properties to form medicines and pastes for the treatments of illness and wounds. It was this voice that had told her to hurt the bad man and make him understand he had to leave her alone.

Don’t let them leave without you, Nesta, she said.

She trusted the old woman, so Nesta stood and climbed the rubble then stared at the men's backs as they checked the horses and climbed up to the driving seats above the carriage. As she stood, her physical strength seemed to ebb away: months of solitude and a fear of strangers had made her so wary that she lost the courage to call out to them. She hoped the old woman’s voice would return to guide her, confirming that this was the right choice, but the voice remained silent. Nesta watched helplessly as the men untied the reins from the seat-post, guiding the horses into a sharp turn. Nesta watched their departure with a sinking heart, not daring to call and bring them back. She chewed at her lower lip as it began to quiver, knowing the loneliness was about to return.

Glad to be leaving, the horses had to be held back from racing through the gates, their heads tugging forcefully at the reins. The carriage moved out through the city’s broken gate.

As they passed under the shattered arch, something made one of the men turn his head to take one last look behind - to see Nesta standing alone on top of a pile of rubble. He grabbed the driver’s shoulder and said something to him. The driver pulled on the reins, stopping the horses and then both men turned to stare at her.

While the driver kept the horses steady, the second man leaped down and ran back towards Nesta, frightening her so that she half turned, ready to bolt back to one of her hiding places. The man shouted, Are you Nesta?

She stopped, stunned, unsure how he knew her name and turned back to him, nodding slowly. He began to climb up the pile of rubble, making her step fearfully backwards once more. The man stopped climbing, putting his hands up to show he intended no harm. We’ve come from the Wicca! he called. They want you to come with us, to where they are staying, to talk to them. They sent us to find you.

Wicca? mouthed Nesta, confused. What would the Wicca want with her?

The Old Trot sent us to find a girl named Nesta. If that’s you, she wants to talk to you.

Nesta didn’t know what to say and stared at him helplessly.

It’s two days' ride to their house, said the man. They live in Tribulation. They said you should know that name. They sent us for you. We have food and we’ll protect you all the way!

Nesta shook her head, not understanding at all.

All the Wicca are there. They sent us, said the man, his voice becoming calmer and more soothing. "The Old Trot said it was important for you and them. He smiled. We almost missed you. We almost went without you. He smiled at her. I think the Trot would have flayed us alive if we hadn’t found you. This isn’t a nice place to live. As he said this, he looked around, as if expecting another attack by Scratchers. He paused and then added, She said the old woman would tell you to come with us, would speak in your thoughts."

Nesta hesitated for only a moment longer and then took a step forward. The idea of leaving with strangers was frightening but the mention of the old woman made her mind up. The man didn’t wait. At her first forward step he turned and headed back to the carriage. Nesta briefly considered her belongings back in her secret cave but decided to leave them. She didn't own anything of real value. The man's obvious fear of Rant gave her back her courage and she slid down the broken stones to walk cautiously towards the carriage. The man opened the passenger door and stood holding it open, waiting for her.

The driver turned, watching her approach. You’ll be glad to leave here, I’m sure. He smiled as he spoke. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies. It don’t seem safe, a young girl like you living here. He shook his head. What have you been doing alone?

A movement to her left caught her eye and made her turn her head. The man followed her gaze and gasped. The head of the tiny Pysgot had risen from the water trough, beady black eyes peering from its elongated snout, thick, black whiskers drooping from the sides of its thick lips. It opened its mouth to show two rows of sharp teeth, then, in frustration, it spat at them, a thin line of milky liquid arcing in their direction. The distance was too great and the poisonous spittle dropped, splashing yards from them. It was a common sight to Nesta, not enough to bother her, but it frightened the man waiting by the carriage door.

Come on, now, because we’re leaving, with or without you. I don’t care if I do get flayed. I ain’t staying a moment longer. This place is bad!

Nesta approached the carriage, ready to run if either man looked as if he intended making a grab for her. Realising she might be scared, the one holding the door stepped backwards, allowing her some space to check the inside of the carriage herself.

We’ll look after you proper, he said. This here’s the First Bedesman for the Trot. He pointed up at the driver. Best coachman in Mundo. He’ll get you to the house fast and I'll be with him as guard. Nesta peered cautiously into the carriage. There was nobody else inside, but her eyes opened wide with delight when she saw the parcels of food on one of the seats. The carriage shuddered as the Bedesman prepared the horses to go, so she jumped on the running board and hauled herself inside. The guard pushed the door shut behind her then pulled himself up to the seat above, alongside the Bedesman. The horses required no urging and galloped out through the gates, throwing Nesta back against the padded seat. As the coach rattled down the narrow slope, Nesta pushed her head out of the window, watching the ruins recede, hoping for a brighter future than the past few months had given her. Then she pulled her head back inside the coach, forgot Rant and tore at one of the food parcels, stuffing her mouth with bread: she hadn’t tasted bread for so long. It was delicious, even if it was stale.

From the hillside opposite Rant, hidden within the trees, a pack of creatures watched them leave. These were no tiny Scratchers. They were larger and considerably more dangerous. They could run quickly on all fours or raise themselves on their rear legs, leaving their forelegs, with flexible, prehensile fingers, free to use deadly weapons: usually knives or bows with arrows tipped with poison. When standing like this, their heads rose almost to the level of a man's hip, their long, narrow tails keeping them balanced.

The creatures conferred amongst themselves for a few moments then moved back to a clearing where they had corralled scores of Umbra to carry them. Umbra were larger but stupid and easily controlled: the creatures used them for travelling around quickly, for Umbra could match the speed of a galloping horse over a short distance. The creatures had reins for the Umbra and now attached them to several, then they mounted and began to move after the coach, planning to swap the Umbra regularly as they rode, keeping the mounts fresh. They had been promised a reward for killing the girl but a much bigger one if they held off their attack until they could kill her in full view of the Wicca. The second option would be more dangerous, as the Wicca had strong Magic, but they intended to collect that larger payment for these were Skyke: mercenary killers, with a reputation to uphold.

The dark swarm of Umbra slid down the mountainside, filling the slope with their numbers, Skyke riding the leaders, as a distant crack of thunder heralded a storm to come.

The Telling

Three observers, encased head to foot in warm furs, stared intently through spy-holes in the walls of the wooden hut, irregular, frosty vapours blowing from their open mouths. Occasional sniffles disturbed the silence.

Anyone see anything? whispered one of them.

Nothing, hissed the reply.

It's hard to tell in this swirl, added the third guard.

Two faced south down the mountain, the most likely direction of attack, while one watched northward, ready for the unexpected. Night had fallen, the snow grey in the gloom, playing tricks with their eyes, making them see shapes where there were none. Duties lasted just one hour, maximising concentration but as the end of the burdensome hour approached, so did the anticipation of attack.

Their enemies waited outside, hidden. The watchers had seen nothing of them yet but the Old Trot had spoken of their presence: she would know.

Ila, I hate this, whispered the guard facing north.

Not long now.

The single room was bare, though marks remained on the floors and walls where furniture and shelves had once been placed. The windows had been boarded up and anything likely to hinder the watchers had been removed. At one end of the room lay three blackened slabs of stone on which fires had been built in easier times; now they lay cold and frosted. A hole had been drilled in the slab on the left and a thin rope passed through it - one end dangled from a hook in a wall, within easy reach of the watchers; the other was attached to warning bells in the caves below the hut where others waited, alert for any signal from those watching above.

Any attack had to come through the lodge to gain access to the caves, even though there were three other entrances several miles distant. One of them was protected and hidden by a rock spell; the other two were vertical chimneys, meaning entry would lead to certain death at the hands of guards waiting at the bottom.

The lodge, made from stout wooden planks brought up from the lower slopes of the mountain where trees grew, appeared deserted from the outside, covered by a dense blanket of snow, no lights showing, suggesting no-one lived within. Thick trunks propped the east and west walls to provide strength against the winds which gusted unexpectedly at these altitudes.

Do you think they've forgotten us? We're past our time! hissed a mock-angry voice from one of the watch-holes. The other two watchers chuckled. The same words were said at this time in every watch.

A creature howled in the distance, the call echoing between the mountain peaks. The observers tensed.

A sudden rumbling sound within the lodge made them jump. Their hour was finished. The central stone sank to reveal a small series of steps leading down to the caves. Now came the danger time: an attack at this moment would leave the cave system vulnerable to easy access. A group of twelve guards emerged from the opening, taking up positions around the walls. The first of the watchers left his post, descending through the hole to be immediately replaced by one of the fresh guards. The second change-over occurred in the same way; then finally the third. The remaining nine guards followed them down and the stone barrier ground back into place. All rehearsed, well-timed, taking seconds to complete. The new observers settled to continue the vigil.

The cave immediately below the lodge was cold and gloomy, lit only by a single jar of sun-bees. The next observers were already there, acclimatising themselves in preparation for their own forthcoming shift. The guards relieved from duty smiled and joked, waiting while an Earthworker cast her spell. The rock wall in front of them opened up, creating an entrance further into the lower caves. Light spilled from the opening but once the guards and the Earthworker had gone through the gap the rock scraped back into place, restoring the gloom and iciness.

The off-duty guards made their way down more stone steps to a larger cavern where sun-bees fluttered in jars to light the room. This cavern was separated from the main cave system by a stout wooden door. One of the guards used the butt of his spear to bang on the door in a pre-agreed sequence, which led to the sound of a succession of bolts being pulled back on the other side of the door before it swung open.

Light and warmth heartened them immediately, the noise of many people assailing their ears. Another downward passage took the guards into the main caves where fires burned and more sun-bees lit the darkness.

Soldiers relaxed on benches and ate from slate plates, their weapons and furs close, just in case of trouble. One young woman inspected the sun-bees, confirming that enough plants stimulated the fluttering insects, ensuring the glowing of their bodies. She pulled a small trolley containing more jars of fresh sun-bees to replace exhausted insects.

All quiet? she called to them as they passed her on their way down to the bottom level.

Quiet and boring. It would've been nicer if you'd been on duty with us, one of them replied loudly. She laughed.

Ila, if she'd been there, then anyone could have broken in. We'd have had no-one watching the mountain! Everyone within hearing chuckled. The girl's face reddened but she smiled, almost laughing.

The fifth level down was where the community cave systems existed. The ceiling stood twice the height of the tallest adult, its width allowing the whole group of six hundred to gather if necessary. An abundance of large rocks strewn about the floor provided seating and places to rest food plates. Dozens of sun-bee lanterns placed at intervals created a subdued glow. Smaller tunnels, used as private dwellings, led off this main cavern.

They had been in the caves for almost a week now and had grown used to the perpetual light - night was simulated by reducing the number of lanterns used.

The Old Trot had joined their group several days before as they climbed into the upper reaches of the mountains and it was she who had told them of the lodge and cave systems hidden in the mountains.

She stepped amongst them, stooped and frail, her skin dark and wrinkled, eyes appearing watery and weak. But when those eyes landed on an individual, they left no doubt of her strength. She possessed an intensity in her stare that no-one could withstand, every one looking away, avoiding the scrutiny.

She nodded to a few as she stepped around the outcroppings of rocks towards her favourite seating place.

She was accompanied by two female guards who had made it their task to attend to her comfort. One moved ahead to shake the cushions on which she would sit; the other remained at her side. Although not dreadfully cold this deep within the mountain where the temperature remained constant, the old woman was dressed in a thick coat, fur stockings covering her legs and mittens protecting her hands.

Once seated, she gestured for all to move closer and listen. In hundreds they obeyed her summons, though many of the guards towered over her, with muscled bodies which might have broken her frail form in two if they had dared try. No-one showed surprise when more soldiers entered from side caves to listen to her words though no orders had been issued: somehow her presence was enough to attract groups from far off - they just knew.

A silence fell on the group, the drip of water into distant deep pools being almost the only noise disturbing the quiet.

The old lady took a little while to gather herself and when she began to speak she did so with eyes firmly closed, her voice thin and shaky.

Tonight is momentous for us all.

Not a whisper disturbed her; not a foot shuffled. She licked her thin, dry lips. This night shall be an historic one, chronicled in the Parchment of Life.

The Parchment of Life had become a cliché: everyone talked about their most notable moments being recorded there, but no-one smiled at its mention tonight. Should the Parchment exist, no-one doubted that tonight’s events would be recorded in it.

I cannot tell you for certain that we will overcome our enemy. I cannot tell you whether any of us will survive, for our enemies' powers are very great, but I can tell you that this night will never be forgotten! She stood, the two girls moving closer in case she needed help. Removing the glove from her right hand, she held her bony fingers up in front of her face before saying slowly and clearly:

"For you to understand why this evening is so significant, you need to know how events brought you here. You need to know what riches will be brought to you by victory. Watch!"

The fingers of her right hand began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The skin which had appeared so fragile began to blur, her digits seeming to melt into one. Her stooped figure straightened and grew until she towered over them, magnificent and terrible, making those nearest lean backwards in fear. The thin sand and gravel beneath her feet swirled, a grainy cloud developing on the cave floor, turning and twisting. The centre darkened, forming a shape, becoming solid. From the dust appeared the image of a tiny carriage, drawn by four galloping horses. As the image grew more distinct, the watchers could make out two men seated high up at the front of the carriage, one armed with bow and arrows, the other driving the horses to move faster, whip cracking. The wagon thundered down a lane, mud and small stones flying up behind. In the carriage window appeared the face of a girl, desperate, glancing behind. She looked terrified.

"Her name is Nesta, said the old woman in a voice that was heavy with distaste and carried right to the back of the cave. It is she who is responsible for your presence here in the mountains."

Chapter 1 - Choosing Nesta

Nesta clung on inside the rattling coach, its speed terrifying in the darkness. She sensed the urgency and fear of the men driving the horses, hearing the Bedesman yelling at his steeds, his voice indistinct over the clatter of the hooves and the rattling of the carriage. Trees and bushes passed the window in a blur. She pushed her face through the window opening to try to look ahead. Occasional lightning lit the narrow path but