“You’re a sharp lad,” the old man said, leaning in close as though telling a secret. “I would have liked to have a boy such as yourself aboard.”

Callen Marsher beamed. He had been listening to the old Captain tell stories for hours, always picturing himself within the action. The longing he felt to leave his little town seemed to draw him to the mysterious man, whose captivating tales were a window into a world of which Callen had only ever imagined.

“You remind me of a cabin boy we took on in Gablehaven. He’d hid himself in a hold until we had cleared the bay. Usually we’d just throw stowaways overboard, but this lad had something about him. Had a fire in his belly, always ready for whatever came next.” The Captain’s periwinkle eyes considered Callen for a moment. “Not unlike yourself, I would care to imagine.”

Callen could feel his face warming despite the chill in the drafty stone inn. If only he could persuade the old man to let him join his crew once the ice melted, perhaps he could live a life full of excitement like the boys in the stories—like the boy he saw himself becoming, if only given the chance.

“Please sir,” Callen began, “could you—”

“I told you, lad, call me Jomn. No need for formalities here, not on land.”

“Sorry sir—Jomn.” Callen’s face warmed a bit more. “I was just wondering, with all your expeditions and all, where are you going next? Do you have a crew coming to get you in Spring?”

Captain Jomn took a long draw on his pipe and let the smoke out slowly as he leaned back on the rickety wooden chair by the fireplace. The chair creaked as the peat fire hissed, having their own conversation in the dim parlor.

“Callen, my boy,” Jomn began, his knowing eyes bereft of their usual glint, “I wonder if you might have already worked that one out?” He let the words hang like the wisps of pipe smoke still lingering in the chilly air.

Callen pursed his brow, caught off guard by the Captain’s reply. He replayed in his mind the conversations they'd had those past few hours. Had the Captain told him already?

“Are you continuing on to Talas once the river breaks up?” It was a safe guess, but Callen didn’t expect it to be right. The old sailor was the embodiment of adventure. Surely he had some risky enterprise in the works.

Jomn sat up and took another draw of his pipe as he stared at the smouldering fire. “Do you suppose, Callen, that I accidentally got caught here in Skegsend before I was able to escape the ice? Do you think I missed boarding my own ship before it sailed downriver to the sea? That would have been poor planning on my part. That’s what the townsfolk believe happened, though I suppose I haven’t told them otherwise.”

Callen considered the Captain’s words. The truth was, he did think those things about the Captain, just like the other townsfolk. He had heard his parents gossiping with their friends, wondering aloud how someone could be so foolish as to become trapped in Skegsend for Winter. In the warmer seasons the town was bustling with sailors enjoying a safe haven and a spot of dry land before continuing on their journey with fresh water and rations. Skegsend wasn’t known for the quality of its tradable goods, but the town was an oasis tucked among the sprawling leagues of the treacherous Headlands coastline. During the seasons of Winter and Hibern, however, the Windward Sea blew ice onto the rocky shore and up the mouth of the Oarin River, locking in the town until Spring which brought warm breezes and more sailors. No one overwintered in Skegsend, nobody but the townsfolk themselves.

“No, Callen, I can’t imagine you thought I would be so foolish. I’m right where I mean to be.” The Captain leaned forward in his chair, so close that his head was level with Callen’s who sat on a cushion on the floor in front of the dying fire. “Your town, lad, it holds a secret. A secret I mean to unbury.”

Callen’s eyes widened as his mind began to race. “Something’s buried in Skegsend? Like treasure?”

The glint had found its way back to Jomn’s eyes. “Yes, like a treasure. A whole cavernful, and I think you might be just the lad to help me find it.”

Callen couldn’t believe his own ears. All his life he had been longing to leave his town to answer a call to adventure, while there had been one waiting for him right under his very feet. “I am,” Callen blurted out quickly, “I mean, I would like to help, that is.”

Jomn smiled at the boy as he leaned back into his protesting chair. “I thought you might be the right person to ask. It won’t be easy finding the entrance. I don’t know where it is.”

Callen cocked his head in confusion. “How will we find it if you don’t know where to look?”

“Ah, but I do know where to look. I don’t know where the cavern is, but someone in this town will. They don’t know what’s inside, of course, but they’ll know just where it’s at. We’ll need to look inside people’s heads to find our answer.”

Callen chuckled at the thought. “You mean like peeking in their ears to see if there’s a map inside?”

Jomn’s face turned serious, and Callen quickly made himself stop smiling.

“Sorry sir, I don’t really—”

Jomn held up a hand. “You jest, but you are not far from the mark. I wonder if you can keep a secret?”

Callen tried not to look too excited. “Of course, sir, anything.”

Jomn studied the boy sitting on the floor, then reached into the leather pouch hanging on his belt. He pulled out a handful of wrinkled green stones and held them out for Callen to see. Callen gaped at the small gems as they danced with reflected firelight. He had never in his life seen anything so beautiful.

“This is how we’re going to find our cavern. Do you know what these are, lad?”

Callen hazarded a guess. “Those are emeralds, right? Is that what the treasure is?”

“No, the treasure isn’t emeralds, and neither are these.” Jomn selected one and carefully replaced the rest in his pouch. “This is a special stone called vormite. Have you ever heard of it before?”

Callen shook his head without looking away from the enchanting gem.

“I thought not,” Jomn continued. “It’s very rare, and it can be dangerous if you’re not careful with it.” He leaned close to the boy and held out the stone. “Do you think you can be careful with it?”

Callen’s eyes lit up as he nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir, of course I can.” He reached his hand out and held it under the gem in expectation. The Captain smirked as he let the stone drop into his palm.

It felt colder than Callen had expected, and much heavier. He looked closely at it, turning it over slowly with his fingers. He smiled at the green lump in his hand, enthralled by its strange beauty.

“It’s beautiful,” Callen finally managed, “but why is it dangerous?”

The Captain’s grin widened. “These stones are powerful. Inside each one there lies a magic, older than this world and unknown to most who live on it.” He reached into his pouch and pulled out another of the stones, turning it playfully between his fingers. “These tiny ones can’t do too much damage, but in the wrong hands they can be very dangerous indeed.”

Callen held the gem close to his face as he examined the stone’s peculiar texture. It almost looked as though the stone was dancing in the low light, moving and reshaping itself as it sat in his palm. How lovely, he thought, it’s dancing for me. It likes me. He began absently stroking the stone with his other hand.

“You’ve made a connection.” The Captain’s voice made Callen jump. “It must like you. It can feel that you will be the one to help it.”

Callen looked from the Captain back to the stone and smiled. “I want to help it. It wants me to, I think.”

“Why don’t you hold onto that one? It could become useful to you soon.” The Captain put his own stone back into his pouch. “And keep your ears open. Sometimes, if it thinks it can trust you, it’ll whisper.”

Callen could feel a thrill of anticipation welling up inside himself. A whisper from the stone! What he wouldn’t give to hear words from his new—friend? Could this stone be his friend? He would be a great friend to the stone.

“There is one condition.” Jomn’s face was solemn again. “Something you must swear to, in order to possess it.”

Callen reflexively closed his hand around the gem. “Anything. I’ll swear it.”

Jomn leaned in close. “You mustn’t tell anyone about it. Do not show it to anybody, don’t leave it where someone else can find it. I never gave it to you, and I certainly don’t have more of them.” He looked Callen hard in the eyes. “Do I make myself clear on those points?”

“Yes sir. I swear. I’ll take care of it.” Callen peeked into his hand and smiled. “You can trust me,” he said softly, more to the stone than to Jomn. “I’ll take care of you.”

The Captain sat up and stretched. His bones creaked along with his chair as he let out an exaggerated yawn. “Alright, lad,” he chuckled, “that’s enough for tonight. Your folks will be sore with me if I keep you any longer.” He stood up and knocked out his pipe ash into the hearth.

Callen still sat on his cushion, gazing at the gem in his hand.

“Come on, off you go.”

Callen reluctantly stood. He pulled on his sheepskins and bundled himself for the frigid walk back to his family’s house. He took one more longing look at the piece of vormite in his hand before plunging it deep into a pocket and sighing.

“Goodnight, Jomn. Thank you for the stone, and everything.”

“You’re quite welcome, my boy. Just keep it a secret.”

Callen patted his pocket in confirmation. He then left through the parlor door to the entry hall, then out into the bitter Headland Winter night.

Jomn sat back down in his chair by the hearth. He stared into the embers as his fingers slipped into the leather pouch on his belt. He felt around for a moment, then pulled out a larger stone, slightly smaller than a chicken’s egg. He watched as the gem played in the low light, bending orange and yellow into wavy green reflections. After several minutes, he brought the vormite to his face, holding it softly against his temple. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, slow breath.

“Callen,” he whispered into the night.

-----

“Pull the kettle, would you, dearie?” The old lady buzzed about her kitchen like a bee hard at work.

Oudalla Marsher smiled as she lifted the hotrock out from the steaming vessel. She loved being here, especially on a cold Winter morning. The brightness of Cannie Saltwood’s home reminded her of her own childhood house. The rich smells of something baking and something steeping spun together into a rich tapestry of memory that brought her back to the stool in front of her mother’s hearth, now cold but still full of life in her mind—the same life that crackled merrily in Cannie’s kitchen.

“Go ahead and pour for us. I’ll pull these buns.”

Oudalla did as she was told as Cannie swung the cast iron pot out from over the coals and grabbed the handle with a woolen cloth. She set the pot on the table and lifted the lid, and a rich scent wafted out into the little kitchen. Cannie popped out the buns from inside and put them on a plate to cool.

“Now then,” she lilted as she sat down next to Oudalla, taking the steaming mug of tea into her hands. “I know you’re not just here to keep me company, although I do enjoy those sorts of visits.”

Oudalla squirmed in her chair.

“What’s troubling you, my dear? Or are you going to make me figure it out for myself?”

Cannie’s eyes twinkled as she smiled at Oudalla. It was well known that Cannie could intuit the troubles of the other townsfolk, and she was usually able to figure out what those troubles were before the townsfolk knew, themselves.

Oudalla sighed. “It’s Callen. I’m worried about how he’s been acting lately.”

Cannie flashed a knowing smile. “Ah, yes, young Callen. Full of wanderlust. What’s he been doing now?”

“Well, to start, I keep catching him wandering over to Farin’s Hothouse. You know, where that strange old man is boarding?”

“Yes, I’m familiar.”

“Something about him is off-putting. I told Callen it’s probably best if he doesn’t spend any more time with him, but he just keeps going back.”

“Callen does have an inquisitive mind. He looks to the horizon and dreams about seeing what’s beyond.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not what concerns me the most. He’s been acting so strangely lately. Waking up at weird hours, sneaking around town. Sometimes it’s like he’s in a trance and doesn't know where he’s just come back from.”

“Hm, Winter surely takes its toll on the mind. Cabin fever and depression run rampant this time of year. That's why Margus and I try to keep in touch with everyone we can throughout the colder seasons. We're only able to remain a strong community if we take steps toward strengthening it. Prioritizing the town’s mental fortitude is essential, especially in Winter.” Cannie blew the steam from her mug. “Has he been seeing any of his friends recently?”

Oudalla pursed her brow. “I don’t know. If he has, it hasn't been at our house. I don’t know what he gets up to anymore, always coming and going who knows where.”

Cannie sipped her tea as she thought. “Well, he is almost of age. His behavior isn’t out of the ordinary for a boy such as himself. Keep a loving eye on him, and if there’s something deeper going on it’ll show itself eventually.”

Cannie filled two plates with buns and set one in front of Oudalla. Steam twirled in wafting ribbons as the rootbread cooled, filling Oudalla’s nose with the sweet scent of mallow and thyme.

Oudalla sighed. “You’re right, as usual.” She chuckled aloud at her worry. “I suppose kids his age do go off and get themselves into trouble, don’t they? Especially in Winter.”

Cannie laughed. “Oh, sure they do! Your husband was one of the worst at Callen’s age, if you remember?”

“Oh, yes,” Oudalla blushed, “I remember well. Callen isn’t nearly as bad as Arlin was, thank the gods. He certainly has his quirks, though.” She took a sip of tea as she recalled. “Just the other day, for instance, I caught him trying to hide rocks under my pillow!”

Cannie snorted. “What was he doing that for?”

“I have no idea. Well, just one rock, really. A small green rock under my pillow and one under Arlin’s. He was so startled when I caught him, he grabbed them and ran right out of the house!”

Cannie’s face fell. “Did you get a good look at those rocks at all?”

“Not really. Looked like it could have been a little lump of jade, maybe.”

Cannie wrinkled her brow as she set her mug down slowly.

Oudalla eyed her curiously. “Everything alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, I just had a thought. What were you saying earlier about Callen acting like he’s been in a trance?”

“Oh, you’re probably right about that one. I’m sure he’s just tired from being out all night. Who knows what he’s getting up to these days?”

“Oudalla,” Cannie began slowly, “has Callen been talking to himself lately, or talking in his sleep at all?”

“Actually, yes, since you mention it. He’s started whispering to himself in his room.”

“Have you heard anything he’s been saying?”

Oudalla thought for a moment. “I can’t say I have. Although I can say it sounds as though he’s whispering to someone, not just to himself.”

Cannie put her hand over Oudalla’s and looked her in the eyes. “My dear, I think your Mother’s Intuition has served you well. I think your earlier concern might yet be warranted.”

Oudalla raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there may be more to this than I was willing to consider earlier.” Cannie stood up and walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a small tincture. She sat back down next to Oudalla and handed her the glass phial. “Pour some of this over your hotrocks every night, just to be safe. And have Callen come over to have tea with me, as soon as you see him next.”

“Sure, I will.” Oudalla looked at the small jar in her hand. “What is this?”

“Oh, it’s just horga extract, with some other things mixed up in it. It will cleanse the air as you sleep, just in case.”

Oudalla was suspicious, but she knew better than to press Cannie further.

“Just a few drops should do it. It’ll smell nice, too. Now, finish up your tea and let’s change the subject.” Cannie was back to her usual joyful demeanor, leaving no opportunity for Oudalla to question her peculiar methods.

-----

A soft snow drifted down from the monochromatic sky. Callen stared blankly at an old stone farmhouse, tucked into its fluffy white blanket as though meaning to sleep its way through Winter.

Where was he?

A calming silence surrounded the old farmstead. No footprints could be seen in the snow save his own, leading from the farmhouse itself.

How did he get here? What was he doing in the middle of this snowy pasture, so far from town? Which way was the town?

There will be a road, Callen thought to himself. I’ll find the road and then find my way home.

The snow was getting heavier, becoming one low cloud of flurries. He knew how to orient himself, keeping the treacherous mountains to his back as he walked over the crunchy drifts. Finding the river would be trickier. Good thing he was dressed for it.

Why was he here? This wasn’t the first time he couldn’t remember how he had gotten somewhere, though it was the farthest from home he had found himself yet. Why did this keep happening? Who could he ask? Maybe the stone would know—the stone!

Callen felt around in his pocket and pulled out three small vormite stones. That’s strange, he thought. Which one’s mine? He held the stones close to his face and inspected them slowly. They each had a unique warped texture that played in the low light. They were all beautiful, but he couldn’t recognize one as being his.

“Where did you come from?” he asked the stones. He tried to remember how he had gotten more vormite. Presumably they came from Jomn, but when? No matter. Jomn would know what’s going on. He could be trusted with such questions, just like Jomn could trust him with the vormite. It was all part of their plan to find the treasure. Oh, to find that treasure! What could it be? To think, it’s just sitting around waiting to be dug up. If only I knew where it was—

“Oh, yeah,” Callen said aloud. “You’re going to help us find the cave!” He smiled at the shimmering green stones in his hand as he brought them even closer to his face. “I’m supposed to use you to find the entrance. The answer is in someone’s head. But, who’s?”

Snow spun around Callen’s face as the wind started to pick up. The frozen crystals stung his cheeks as they danced and drifted over the rocky moor, filling in his boot prints and erasing his past. He was never here; nobody would know what he had done. The farmhouse disappeared in the blowing clouds of snow, and as it did it slipped from Callen’s mind, no longer a memory.

The light grew dimmer still, and Callen let out an involuntary shiver. “Where do I go now?”

“You know where you need to go,” came the soft reply. “You know who has the answers we seek.”

And then Callen did know. It made so much sense, why didn’t he think about it before now? He took a step, crumbling through the drift that had claimed his ankle. “I know what to do.” Another determined step. He put the vormite back into his pocket without thinking, and with every step his thoughts swirled like the blowing flakes around his head until he was lost in the blizzard of his mind, his memories left buried in the snow behind him.

-----

The sharp wind snaked between the old stone buildings as Cannie Saltwood trudged through drifting piles of crusty white hardpack, arms laden with a carefully wrapped parcel. She made her way down through the sloping town toward the frozen river below until she reached a lone stone structure by the wide eastern bank of the Oarin. A trail of smoke curling from the chimney betrayed the inhabitant within, and several sets of footprints not yet smoothed over by the blowing snow spoke of suspicious affairs.

Cannie pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the warm entry hall. A firm slam of the door announced her presence as she knocked the snow from her boots and started into the parlor of Farin’s Hothouse.

Captain Jomn was seated by the fire, looking back toward the door in anticipation. His face fell as the old lady bustled in, clearly not who he was expecting.

“Hello,” Cannie sang as she entered the dim room. “I’ve brought a luncheon. I hope you’ll indulge me?”

Jomn sat silently as Cannie set her parcel on a table and started unwrapping it, not bothering to wait for a reply from the old man. She pulled out a warm loaf of bread and a couple of jars, along with a carafe and two mugs. She set out two plates, cutting large slices out of the loaf and arranging them on each, then opened the jars and split the contents—smoked salmon and fruit preserves—between them. She then poured two steaming cups of tea from the carafe, and after it was all intentionally arranged upon the table, she looked up expectantly at Jomn, who had been staring silently at the whole production.

“Well, come on.” Cannie sat down at one of the settings and started spreading preserves over a slice of the spongy sourdough.

Jomn blinked in disbelief, then, thoroughly outmaneuvered, he rose from his chair and made his way reluctantly toward the table.

Cannie gave him a broad smile and gestured toward the vacant setting. “There we go,” she encouraged, “just a little something to warm your bones. I can’t imagine how you must be getting on here all alone. Locked in until Spring, well that hasn’t happened to someone in quite some time. I’m Canvallaria Saltwood, by the way, but you can call me Cannie.” She smiled even brighter. “And what shall I call you?”

The Captain slowly pulled out the empty chair from the table, his eyebrows not quite resettled from the barrage of one-sided conversation. “Call me Jomn,” he said tersely as he settled into his seat.

“Jomn. Very good. Is that short for something, perhaps? It’s certainly not a Headlander name, but then again you’re certainly not a Headlander, are you? No, it sounds much more Austral. Plallish, perhaps?”

Jomn replied with a grunt as he forked salmon over his bread.

Cannie’s eyes twinkled as she studied the man sitting opposite her. As a town Elder, it was her duty to vet him. He’d be a tricky egg to crack, but all eggs cracked eventually. Winter was a dangerous time, especially from the isolation and despair that blew in with the snow. Minds were fragile this time of year, and if her suspicions were correct, this man was trying to take advantage of that. Why? That remained to be discovered, but the mental wellness of the town was her charge and no foreign sailor was going to harm her flock, not on her watch.

“Do try the tea. It’s something special I’ve been working on. Dried leaves from a lovely little plant that grows in the wetlands closer to the coast. It has some wonderful medicinal qualities besides being delicious. I do think you’ll enjoy it.”

Jomn ignored his mug. Cannie knew it was just a matter of time, the salmon was salty and the bread was dense. He would need a sip soon.

“I do hope your stay in Skegsend has been comfortable so far. Farin does a good job with her hothouse, although I daresay she’s not used to boarding someone through the offseason. This place is usually shuttered until the ice breaks up. Lots of peat and Winter stores to keep you, mind, though the rest of the town has been helping where they can.” She held out her hands as though presenting the meal before her. “My turn today. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you properly. You’re one of us for the next couple seasons, and we always look out for our own.” She emphasized the last few words, subtly but purposefully.

Jomn still sat rigidly in his chair as he politely ate his meal. After a particularly large bite he finally reached for his tea and drew several large gulps down his throat. As he set down his mug, his eyes widened as he looked sharply at Cannie’s sweetly smiling face.

“What did I just drink?” he demanded harshly.

“I told you, dear, it’s a plant that comes out of the saltmarshes. It’s quite good for you—clears the mind and gets rid of any negative energies that could be lingering around.”

“How did you—how could you have—” Jomn had flown into a rage. He stood up quickly, knocking his chair backward to the floor.

“Goodness, whatever’s the matter?” Cannie put a startled expression on her face, though she had half expected this.

“You know something! What do you know?”

“My dear, I know quite a bit about a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“The tea! Somehow it—you—nevermind. I’m not hungry. Take your luncheon, I’m going to bed.” With that, the Captain stormed off to his room and slammed the door behind him.

Cannie lowered her guard and allowed herself a knowing smile. His reaction to the tea had given him away; there was something very wrong about his presence in Skegsend. Her suspicions about Callen’s green rocks had proved correct, and Jomn was clearly connected to them—to the vormite stones. Why he was using Callen to get to the townsfolk was another matter entirely, but at least she had her starting point.

Cannie packed up the food and the dishes, humming purposefully as she did so. She had her work cut out for her now, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She was a stalwart shepherd and no wolf was going to harass her flock and get away with it.

She finished packing and pulled her parcel under her arm. She looked off toward the door of the Captain’s room, firmly shut against her. It had been a while since she’d had to battle with the stones. Was she still up to it? She shook the doubt from her mind as she walked through the entry hall and opened the large door to the outside. She would prevail, she convinced herself. The town was counting on her, even though they had no idea of the threat that was rising against them. She would prevail, or her town would be lost.

That settles that, she thought as she headed home through the blowing snow. Time to pull out the old box of tricks.

-----

“Son, are you alright?”

Callen blinked around the warm stone parlor. There were several faces looking expectantly at him, faces he recognized but couldn’t quite name.

“I, er, yes,” Callen managed hopefully. The expressions he received in return told him that his reply hadn’t convinced any of the owners of the faces in the room.

“Callen,” an old woman said softly, “have a cup of tea. I think your mind might be a bit jumbled up right now, and a nice cup should help make sense of things.”

Callen looked suspiciously at the mug being offered to him, but eventually reached out to grab it.

“There you go, dearie. Now, take a sip.”

Callen did as he was told, and as the steamy vapors swirled into his nostrils and the sweet liquid warmed his mouth and throat as it washed its way down to his belly, he could feel a curtain being drawn open into his thoughts, thoughts he felt he had been looking for, that he knew had been there the whole time but that he just couldn’t quite find.

He saw Mrs Saltwood smiling at him sweetly, with Mr Saltwood and his parents standing behind her. He looked around the familiar room. He was in his own house, sitting in the place of honor. Was he being honored for something, or was he in trouble? Callen took another sip of the tea, figuring he would find out very soon. The tea washed over his mind once again, unlocking doors Callen didn’t even know had been closed. He remembered coming home and all these people already being here, waiting for him.

Mrs Saltwood knelt by his chair, placing her weathered hands on his knee. She looked into his eyes, almost through, as though she was looking for something that lay behind them.

“Callen,” she began slowly, “is there anything you feel like telling us? Anything that comes to mind?”

Callen flushed. Several things came to his mind, none of which he could divulge without breaking Jomn’s trust.

“No,” Callen replied shortly.

Mrs Saltwood looked disappointed as she stood up and nodded toward her husband. Mr Saltwood walked over and handed her something wrapped in a small cloth. She took the bundle and turned back toward Callen. Very carefully she unwrapped the cloth and held out the contents for Callen to see. Lying in the crumpled rag was a small green stone.

Callen’s eyes went wide as he reflexively felt his pocket. Mrs Saltwood’s face tightened, and Callen knew he had given himself away.

“It appears you recognize this celestial stone, young Marsher.” Mrs Saltwood handed the cloth with the stone back to her husband. “I wonder if you could tell me how you have become so familiar with such a rare and powerful substance?”

Callen looked at the floor. He wanted nothing more than to be miles away from this room, safe from the trouble in which he was certainly about to find himself. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I—” he began, but the words weren’t there. He started shaking, wishing Jomn would rescue him and take him away from this place. He had to be strong to keep from betraying Jomn, from betraying the stones.  Help me.

“What’s in your pocket, son?”

His father’s question made Callen freeze. His hand had found its way to the stone in his pocket, and he had been subconsciously rubbing it for comfort. He pulled his hand out slowly, leaving the stone inside.

“Nothing,” Callen whispered as he trembled.

Callen’s father looked to Mrs Saltwood for guidance. “Turn out your pockets, please, Callen,” she said firmly.

Callen stayed still in his chair, looking hard at the floor.

“Come on, boy, let’s see what you’ve got.” Callen’s father started toward him.

Callen stood quickly and took a step toward the door, keeping space between himself and the others in the parlor. His boots and sheepskins were by the fire at the other end of the room, but there was no way to get there without putting himself close to his father or Mr Saltwood.

Callen hesitated as he caught his mother’s eyes. Full of concern, they brought a stab of guilt to his gut.

“Mom,” Callen began, but his father stepped toward him again.

Callen pulled open the parlor door. After one last look, he made up his mind and darted from the parlor and through the entryway into the frigid outdoors.

The harsh Winter air immediately stung Callen’s whole body as he ran through knee-high drifts in nothing but his socks and house clothes. For a brief moment he considered going back, but he had to get the vormite as far away from them as possible—especially Mrs Saltwood. She had a vormite stone! She knew all about it, how did she know?

Callen tripped and tumbled into a snowbank. His skin was becoming numb as he pushed himself back up and pressed on. His teeth were chattering uncontrollably as he forced his frozen legs to keep moving. He could hear his father yelling after him, but he couldn’t stop now. Mustn’t let them know about the stone. A few more steps, another tumble. He couldn’t move his fingers. He tried pushing himself up again but could only get to his hands and knees. The cold was overpowering him.

Callen collapsed into the lee of a building. They wouldn’t find him here. Snow blew harshly over his face as his eyelids froze shut. He was exhausted, and the wind was so disorienting. Once more he tried to stand, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. Maybe just a little rest, then he would continue.

It wasn’t until the crunching stopped that Callen realized he had been hearing footsteps. Was it his father? He didn’t care anymore. He was so cold and tired, he would tell them everything just to be in front of a fire. Whoever it was picked Callen up and slung him over their back. They started walking purposefully through the deep snow as Callen allowed himself to give in to his exhaustion and slump over the shoulder of his rescuer, falling asleep to the heavy footfalls carrying him away through biting cold and fitful dreams.

-----

“Just like that. Now the other one.”

The voice echoed off glittering cavern walls as Callen struggled to get up. His hands were in a shallow puddle, reflecting wavy light from the gemstones all around him.

“He’ll be alright. Not a moment too soon, though.”

Light filtered through Callen’s closed eyelids as he came out of his dream, warmth spreading over his body. He tried wiggling a few fingers, which slowly responded and allowed him a softly clenched fist.

“He’s coming around. Callen, can you hear me, lad?”

Whose voice was that? Callen willed his eyelids apart and immediately shut them tight again as an overwhelming brightness stung his eyes.

“There ye are. You’re alright, lad. Take it slow.”

A crippling yawn washed over Callen as he tried to adjust himself. His arms were propped up and his hands felt wet, though every inch of his body felt profoundly comfortable. He gave another attempt at taking a peek, just one eye this time. A bright, crackling fire filled his view, the flames licking and dancing around as Callen strained to adjust to the intense light.

He was lying on the floor in front of a familiar hearth, wrapped in a quilt from his ankles up to his neck save for his arms which stuck out on either side, his elbows supported by two cushions. His hands floated in two bowls of warm water, a trick his mother had performed on him before to prevent frostbite.  Mom—

The firelight illuminated the floor all around Callen, washing out his surroundings and leaving the rest of the room flickering in shadow. He looked around and saw two obscured figures sitting away from him, their faces darkened from Callen’s overadjusted eyes. He tried to turn to get a better view, but he was too tightly wrapped and only succeeded in sloshing water out of one of the bowls. The water steamed as it ran over the hot stone floor in front of the hearth.

A hearty chuckle resounded from the back of the room. “Pay it no mind, lad. I reckon your hands are about done, anyway. You can pull them out if you like.”

Callen did so, the warm drips of water running down his forearms onto the cushions. He flicked his fingers and wiped his hands and arms on the quilt, then pulled at the fold by his neck to try to unwrap himself. He was tucked in very tightly with the edge of the quilt beneath him, so he sat up in order to loosen his bundle. As he did, he noticed his clothes on a rack nearby, dripping wet with clumps of snow still pressed into them. He adjusted his quilt but kept himself within it, not wishing to expose himself to the two strangers staring at him from the dark.

“Callen, my boy.” It was the other voice this time, a voice Callen recognized very well. “You showed me loyalty today.” Jomn’s gravelly voice carried across the shadowy room now starting to come into Callen’s view. “You called out to me with your stone, whether you meant to or not. It’s lucky you did, I was able to send help. Lennig found you and carried you back here, and he showed me how to warm you up properly.”

Callen squinted toward the other figure seated next to Jomn. He recognized the name, a lamb farmer from outside of town.

Lennig chuckled, the same booming laugh from earlier. “You was a mess, that’s for sure. Don’t think you had more than a few minutes to spare. You should be fine now, though. Just take it easy for a bit, we’re in no hurry.”

Callen laid back down on the stone floor, his head finding a cushion he didn’t notice before. He took in a deep breath and sighed. He was safe from Mrs Saltwood and his parents, but at what cost? Callen could never go home, but wasn’t that what he had wanted anyway? To leave home for a life filled with adventure? Callen lay quietly, listening to the crackle of the peat fire as rings of pipe smoke started drifting across the room.

“We don’t have too much time,” Jomn corrected as he puffed intently. “Your family will be looking for you, and I imagine they’ll try this place very soon. Especially that chatty old woman, she might be on to us.”

Callen sat up quickly as he remembered. “You mean Mrs Saltwood? She knows about the vormite! She had a stone, she showed me when she was trying to make me tell her everything.”

Jomn sat up sharply in his chair. “She has vormite? She knows more than I thought. Get up, lad, this changes things. We need to go now.”

Callen got to his feet with effort and draped the quilt over his shoulders.

Jomn stood up and approached him. “You’ll have to put on some of my clothes, and Lennig has a cloak you can use. You’ll be wearing slippers, though.”

Callen followed Jomn across the parlor and on through the hothouse into Jomn’s rented room. There were chests and trinkets everywhere, with charts sprawled out over a table by the far wall. Jomn had clearly moved in and had been planning to stay for a while.

“Here you go, lad.” Jomn handed Callen a set of clothing. “Quickly now.”

Callen promptly donned the outfit. The clothes were foreign and nautical which thrilled him, though he tried not to let it show. This was it, he was going on an adventure with Jomn! Lennig suited him up with a large traveling cloak as he put on Jomn’s slippers. They wouldn’t be warm, but it would be better than last time he was outside.

Jomn slung a heavy-looking satchel over his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he instructed. “Lennig, to your place. You lead.”

Lennig nodded as he doused the fire, then headed through the entryway and out the door.

Jomn turned to Callen and smiled. “It’ll be alright, lad. Why don’t you follow me and step in my boot prints? Your toes might fare better that way.”

Callen nodded in agreement as Jomn turned and headed through the door into the cold, Callen anxiously following close behind him.

-----

Arlin Marsher pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Saltwood’s home and sourly clomped inside. Icy clods fell from his boots as he tracked the bitter outdoors into the warm entry hall.

“Oudie?” he queried into the house.

Oudalla Marsher bustled into the hall. “I just got here,” she started quickly. “I followed Callen’s tracks through town but they got scrambled up with other prints. I searched all over but he wasn’t outside anywhere.” She sighed. “Anything?”

Arlin threw his coat on a rack and huffed. “I tried Farin’s but the place was empty. Hearth was still warm, though.” Arlin scowled. “If he was there, he’s gone now.”

Oudalla looked nervously at her husband. “Arlin, what are we going to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do if we don’t know where the boy is.”

Arlin and Oudalla looked at each other, hopelessness just starting to show in the depths of their eyes.

“I see you’re both empty-handed.” Margus Saltwood poked his head into the entryway. “Come on into the kitchen, Cannie’s bringing out a little something that should help us greatly.” Margus’s weathered face pulled into a kind smile. “We know a thing or two about what’s been going on. If anyone can get to the bottom of it, it’s my Canvallaria.”

Argin and Oudalla followed Margus into the kitchen. Cannie entered shortly after, carrying a small wooden chest.

“I don’t expect the two of you have heard much regarding the deeper workings of the world,” Cannie began as she set the box on the table. “However, there are forces beyond understanding that materialize in certain substances, of which one may study and eventually learn to control.”

Oudalla’s eyes widened as she sat forward in her chair.

“You will have heard of some of these, I expect. Hotrock is a common one, found throughout the Headlands. It emits heat constantly. Now, how do you suppose it does that?”

“Magic,” Oudalla said gingerly.

Cannie’s eyes twinkled. “Magic. A very simple magic from a fairly simple object, but when joined by another, one with different properties, the result is a magic far greater than that of either stone.

“There are six of these so-called celestial stones, that we know of.” Cannie unlatched the small wooden chest. “I have a full compliment here, and I plan on using them to look for Callen.”

Cannie opened the box, hinging the lid wide so Arlin and Oudalla could see the contents. There were six leather bags inside tucked neatly beside each other in two little rows, each tied with their own color of yarn. Cannie removed the bag with a green bow, then untied the yarn and opened it.

Margus pulled out the cloth which held the vormite stone that was shown to Callen. He carefully unwrapped the stone and laid it on the table.

“It’s best not to touch a celestial stone,” Margus said instructively, “unless you’re planning on using it intentionally.”

The Marshers stared at the stone, transfixed by its strange beauty.

“This particular stone is called vormite,” Cannie declared. “It’s the same sort of stone that Callen has been placing all over town. In its presence, the mind stirs up deeply buried memories and fears. If you were to touch it, however, those thoughts would project themselves out into the world, making your mind available to anyone with the right stones and skill.”

Arlin and Oudalla looked uncomfortably at each other.

“In delivering vormite to the bedchambers of our townsfolk, Callen has unwittingly exposed their memories to the devices of this Captain Jomn, whoever he truly is.”

Cannie carefully placed the vormite into the opened pouch and replaced it back into the small chest. She then drew out two other bags, one with a purple string and one tied with orange. She loosened the orange bow first and pulled out a familiar stone.

“Hotrock,” Oudalla said as she relaxed a bit.

“Indeed.” Cannie winced as she quickly set the stone on the table. “Great for making tea. It also increases your physical strength, if you can stand to touch it.”

Cannie untied the bag with the purple bow and pulled out a softly sparkling lavender gemstone. It was cut in an oval, with its several faces reflecting brilliantly around the room. Arlin and Oudalla admired the large jewel, by far the most precious object they had ever seen.

“This one is called moonstone,” Cannie said softly. “It opens your eyes to the world around you, and lets you see more clearly than usual. When you join it together with other stones, however, your Sight is not necessarily limited to what your eyes can reach.”

Cannie pushed the two stones together so they were touching. Each crystal seemed to take on the glow of the other as they radiated unseen energy around the room.

“Certain stones have dangerous reactions if they touch each other, but others are very receptive to being paired up. These two work well together. The hotrock even cools down a bit so you can handle it easier.”

Cannie grabbed the two glowing stones in front of her. She inhaled sharply as she closed her eyes, then held the gems to her forehead. Her silvery hair seemed to wave as she sat.

“Callen is not in Skegsend,” Cannie breathed deeply, her eyes still shut tight under her furrowed brow, “though I can See his path.”

Cannie sat still for a few moments, then exhaled. “He is at a farmstead outside of town, at the home of Lennig Achen. He’s with Lennig and Jomn, although Jomn does not look like himself within the Sight.” Cannie’s voice wavered. “His true nature is visible to me. He is a Prodkin, from an ancient race of dark magic users.”

Cannie opened her eyes and set the stones back on the table. “He has been concealing himself to us. I need to look farther.”

Cannie replaced the hotrock into its bag, then switched the pouch for the one with white yarn. “Shield your eyes,” she instructed. “This one’s a bit bright.”

Cannie opened the bag and a ray of light streamed out of it, illuminating the ceiling in a dazzling rainbow. She pulled out a gem radiating with brilliant color, brightening up the whole room as though it were filled with sunlight.

“Lightstone,” she said as a matter of fact. “You’ve probably heard of this one.”

Cannie set the lightstone on the table next to the moonstone. The brilliant rainbow of colorful light turned a deep purple hue.

“This pair allows you to See that which may come to pass. It is more difficult to interpret than the present, but far more insightful.”

“Do you mean,” Arlin blurted as he shielded his eyes, “that you can see the future with those?”

Cannie cocked her head. “No, only what might yet happen. Possibilities, intentions, things of that nature. However, if something is very likely to happen, it will shine out quite strong.”

Cannie closed her eyes once more as she took the two gems into her hand. She held them to her forehead and was silent for a long time. As she sat, her breathing became heavier. “No,” she whispered, almost tearfully. She began nervously adjusting herself in her chair, then abruptly set the stones down as she cried out in anguish.

“Cannie,” Margus said soothingly as he covered the gleaming gems with his cloth. “What did you See?”

Cannie took a few settling breaths before looking up at her husband. “Jomn is planning on unlocking a ward. He’s going to use blood magic.”

Margus looked horrified. “Who’s blood, Cannie?”

Cannie shook her head. “I couldn’t See exactly, but Margus—” She trailed off as tears ran down her face. “It will happen soon. Margus, there’s going to be a murder!”

-----

Callen couldn’t feel his toes. He had been careful to keep within Jomn’s boot prints, but it hadn’t taken long before the cold had penetrated his thin slippers anyway.

“Here we are,” Lennig announced. “Home sweet home.”

Callen stopped in his tracks. He was hit by a rude recollection as he surveyed the farmstead that lay before him: A quaint set of low buildings covered in snow, surrounded by drifted white pastures, all tucked in for Winter. Callen had been here before. His mind was still clear from the tea he had been given by Mrs Saltwood, and his memories came freely and suddenly. He had been in this house, fairly recently. He had snuck in at night and hid a stone. Why had he done that? He remembered the action, but the reasoning wasn’t part of the memory. He had just been doing what the stones wanted, that was his part in all this. Help the stones to find the treasure. Surely it would all work out in the end. It would all be worth it, whatever he had to do.

Callen continued on, catching up to Jomn and Lennig at the house as they were fumbling in and removing their gear. Callen and Jomn followed Lennig to his parlor where he tended to the dormant coals in his hearth, buried safely in a pile of ash. He quickly brought a roaring fire to life, then settled in front of its generous warmth.

“It’s not much, but it’s home.” Lennig smiled proudly at Callen. “Got everything we need within these walls. Won’t want for nothing until Spring at the earliest.”

Jomn cracked a thin smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “We won’t be here that long.” He looked toward the hall that led into the rest of the house. “I wonder if I could poke around for a bit?”

“Sure thing,” Lennig offered. “Make yourself at home. If you’re looking for anything in particular, gimme a holler.”

“I’ll manage.” Jomn walked off through the hallway and out of sight without bothering to look back at his two compatriots seated around the glowing hearth.

Lennig chuckled. “He’s certainly got his own way about him, don’t he?

Callen felt a twinge of jealousy as he looked away to where Jomn had disappeared. “I suppose so. How do you know him, anyway?” A lump welled up in Callen’s throat as he realized he already knew the answer.

Lennig thought for a moment. “Can’t say I do know him, really. It’s a funny story. I’ve been having this dream lately, see? The same dream every night. I’m walking through the mountains looking for something, although I have no idea what for. It’s maddening because I feel like I should know, but I just can’t remember what should be out there. Eventually the dream turns into me walking to Skegsend and visiting Ferrin’s Hothouse. It would be so strong that I would wake up each morning feeling like I needed to be there for some reason. Well, finally I couldn’t stand it anymore so I suited up and made my way into town and went right into the hothouse. Jomn was there, and we got to talking, and—” Lennig paused as though he was trying to recall something. “Well ye know, I can’t really remember what we was talking about, but then he sent me to find you and now here we all are.” He gestured around his parlor with a smile. “How ‘bout yourself? Jomn seems to have taken a keen interest in your wellbeing.”

Callen flushed, trying to think of a reply that wouldn’t give anything away. He was spared by Jomn, abruptly reentering the parlor. He had a cold look on his face as he glanced around the little room, walking purposefully toward the hearth. He pulled something out of his pocket and offered it to Lennig.

Lennig reached out and took the small object in his hand and stared at it, his face filled with awe. Callen caught a green reflection dancing in Lennig’s palm and knew immediately what Jomn had given him.

“A precious gem, courtesy of young Callen here.” Jomn smirked at Callen as the boy’s heart sank. It had to have been the vormite stone Callen had left in this house days ago. That stone was the reason Lennig was now in Jomn’s thrall, and it was all because of him.

Lennig looked up at Jomn, and then to Callen. “What is this? It’s beautiful.”

Callen couldn’t answer.

“Yes,” Jomn replied dismissively. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Jomn pulled his satchel from the entry hall and dropped it on the ground by the hearth. He pulled out two small wooden boxes and opened them carefully. He tipped the boxes over into one hand and a small stone rolled out of each. Callen recognized the reddish-orange one from his mother’s kitchen, but the other purple stone was unknown to him.

Jomn walked over to Lennig, who was still admiring the vormite in his palm. “Would you like to keep it?”

Lennig looked up at Jomn in amazement. “Can I really? It’s incredible, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s yours,” Jomn said, “just do me a favor and squeeze it as hard as you can.”

Lennig raised an eyebrow but did what he was told. At the same moment, Jomn closed his own hand around the orange and purple gems, then quickly wrapped his arm around Lennig’s head, holding it tightly with his hand over Lennig’s forehead. Callen stood up quickly as Lennig let out a yelp.

“Stay back, boy,” Jomn growled. “Don’t touch him, whatever you do.”

“What are you doing to him?” Callen yelled in a panic.

“Something I should have done weeks ago. Now be quiet.”

Jomn closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Lennig started writhing in his chair, still tightly gripping the stone in his hand. Callen backed away slowly, horrified at the scene before him. Lennig’s eyes bulged, then started rolling back into his head as he gurgled. The vormite shone brightly, seeming to glow through Lennig’s closed fist.

Just as fast as it had started, it was all over. Jomn let go of Lennig’s head, allowing him to collapse out of his seat in a heap. The small vormite stone rolled from his limp hand onto the floor, flickering innocently as though nothing had happened.

Callen stood stunned for a moment, then found his voice. “What did you do? Is he—”

“Dead? Most likely.”

Callen’s knees wobbled. Thoughts raced through his head, questions and fears and terrible feelings. “Why?” he finally managed as he leaned on a wall to steady his legs.

“Why?” Jomn scoffed. “To find our cavern, of course. It worked, too. I know where it is now, get yourself ready to go.”

“You killed him!” The shock made Callen’s head spin. “You said we were just looking in people’s thoughts for the entrance. What was that for?”

Jomn looked annoyed. “Putting dreams in the heads of your simple townsfolk wasn’t working, now, was it? Nobody knows about the old temple anymore. I had to use a stronger magic to search for it myself, but it’s impossible for a mortal to hold more than two kinds of celestial stones at a time. Lennig died a hero, and now our prize awaits.” Jomn started walking to the door. “Suit up.”

“No!” Callen shook with several emotions at once. “You lied to me! This isn’t what was supposed to happen. You tricked me into helping you with the vormite, just like you used it to make Lennig do whatever you wanted him to. You don’t care about sharing the treasure with me at all, do you? You were just using me all along!”

Callen ran toward Jomn, then pushed past him into the entry hall. He grabbed a cloak and stuffed his feet into Lennig’s enormous boots, then pulled open the door and ran outside. He took two steps before he was yanked backward by his collar, tripping over the boots into the snow.

Jomn was standing over him, an unbridled fury seething in his eyes. “You’re not out of this yet,” he snarled as he gave Callen a sharp jab in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. Jomn grabbed him by the cloak and effortlessly dragged him back inside, then threw him onto the floor.

“That oaf served his purpose, but I still have plans for you.” Jomn grabbed a strap from a hook and bound Callen’s hands tightly behind his back. “You’re in this ‘til the end, boy. Now stand up and start walking. If you even think about running, I’ll fry your head just like I did Lennig’s.”

Callen winced as he slowly stood. How could he have been this foolish? He was so taken by the thought of adventure and treasure, he didn’t stop to think about what was happening all around him, happening to him, not until it was too late.

Quiet tears trickled down Callen’s face, freezing onto his cheeks as he walked ahead of Jomn, guided by sharp tugs of the strap on his wrists—guided, surely, to his own demise.

-----

A flurry of activity filled the Saltwoods’ home as Cannie and Margus hurriedly prepared several assortments of bags and strange objects. Arlin and Oudalla were doing their best to help, but they quickly realized staying out of the way was the most helpful thing they could do.

“Oudalla, dear,” Cannie called from another room. “Could you come help me for a moment?”

Oudalla scurried toward the back of the house, following Cannie’s call. She entered the old couple’s bedroom and found Cannie pouring over a tray of objects that were lying on the bed.

“Ah, there you are.” Cannie smiled as Oudalla walked over to the bedside next to her. “I have some things for you and Arlin to wear, just little things for protection and the like.”

Cannie set a fine chain around Oudalla’s neck. “Excellent,” she said as she pulled the chain off again. “This one will be yours, then.” She bunched up the chain and put it in a small leather pouch.

“I was really wanting to talk to you privately, though,” Cannie started up again. “You seem to have a cursory understanding of the celestial stones, and I daresay an interest in them. Am I right?”

Oudalla smiled sheepishly. “Well, of course I find them interesting, and yes, my parents told me quite a bit about the stones when I was a child. My grandfather was very proficient in their use from what I recall.”

Cannie’s face lit up. “Was he, now? Which grandfather?”

“My mother’s father, Aolayun.”

“Ah, yes, I remember him.” Cannie smiled as she recalled. “After I learned the stones from my mother, I always suspected that he could wield them as well. He wasn’t a Headlander, though, was he?”

“No,” Oudalla confirmed. “He was from Tzaigon. They don’t have surnames there, so he took my grandmother’s family name. My name is Tzaigonian, too, after one of his ancestors.”

Cannie finished arranging her trinkets and put the tray under the bed. “Tzaigonians are known for their powerful magic. I wonder if you would want to learn the stones from me after we get Callen back? It’s in your blood, after all.”

Oudalla smiled. “I’d like that, actually. I’ve always thought it would be wonderful to know how to do some of the things my grandfather did. He showed me a few tricks as a child.”

“Well, that settles it. As soon as we’re back I’ll start teaching you.” Cannie picked up her leather pouch and started walking to the doorway. “What brought your grandfather to Skegsend, anyway?”

Oudalla tried to recall the stories she had been told. “I think he was on some quest throughout the boreal regions. He was sealing up dangerous artifacts or temples or something, then he met my grandmother and decided to settle here.”

Cannie whipped around and stared at Oudalla, her eyes wide as her breath shook. “Oudalla, that’s the connection.”

Oudalla was taken aback by Cannie’s abruptness. “What is?”

“Your grandfather was on a quest to seal artifacts. You seal a ward with blood, and only that same blood can unlock it.” Cannie’s voice trembled as she spoke. “I Saw Jomn using blood magic to open a seal. Oudalla, Callen has your grandfather’s blood!”

-----

Sharp, windswept peaks glowed red in the fading evening light as Callen and Jomn trekked through the jagged foothills of the Dinveer Mountains. They had been walking for what felt like hours, and Callen was chilled to the bone. His legs ached with every step, fighting against him as he was made to push further and further into those menacing hills.

Callen grew nervous as they gained elevation. His parents had told him stories of horrible creatures that waited for those who thought themselves strong enough to survive the treacherous mountains. Everyone in town knew of someone who had gone to the foothills and never returned, surely carried away by trolls or worse.

The biting wind howled between the rocks as the ground pitched upward, taking the two hikers perilously close to a towering cliff face too steep to hold snow. Callen’s legs were stiff, and as he tried stepping onto a raised boulder he tripped and fell onto the icy ground. His whole left side yelled at him as he cried out in anguish, his body throbbing with pain from the fall.

Jomn walked up to him and scowled. “Get up, boy. We’re close.”

Callen pushed himself up onto his knees but couldn’t stand. Hands still tied behind his back, he fell over again, striking his face on a rock.

“I don’t have time for this,” Jomn growled as he tugged the strap sideways and continued walking up the steep mountain face.

Callen’s hands were yanked backward and up toward his shoulders as Jomn started dragging him on toward the cliff face. Callen’s clothes tore as he was pulled along the sharp ice and serrated ground, his face and hands bleeding from his falls and scrapes.

Effortlessly Jomn dragged Callen up the winding slope, until they came to the base of the cliff face. High into the sky the sheer cliff rose, towering above them and disappearing into the darkening night.

Jomn stopped in front of the mountainside. He tossed the strap onto Callen’s back and lowered his bag from his shoulder. Callen rolled over in pain and exhaustion, unable to run even if he had the will.

Jomn opened his satchel and rummaged inside for a moment, then pulled something out and held it in his closed hand, his arm raised slightly above his head. Callen couldn’t see what Jomn was holding, but guessed it was another stone as the cliff face started rumbling and small rocks began falling from the wall in front of them. The cliff was crumbling into pieces, and Callen gave out a yell as enormous boulders started lifting into the air, extracting themselves from the solid face of the mountain. Soon only a hole remained where the boulders had been, almost twice the height of Jomn and wide enough to drive a cart through.

Once all the stones had settled, Jomn placed the object from his hand into his coat. He looked at Callen with a greedy smile. “In,” he said casually, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “We’re almost done.”

Callen took a moment to get to his feet, then followed after Jomn who had already gone inside. The hole opened up into a wide chamber, about as big as a house. On the far wall was a large stone relief, almost to the ceiling, carved with strange symbols and grotesque figures. Jomn was in the middle of the chamber, staring at the carven wall. Callen shuffled up behind him and sat on the floor, unable to move much further.

Jomn looked down at him and sneered. “Such a weak boy, and from such a strong line. Your Headlander blood has made you soft, but there should be enough Tzaigonian left in you for this.”

Once again Jomn reached into his satchel, this time pulling out a piece of vormite and another stone that looked like a reddish lump of metal. He walked toward Callen, who tensed but couldn’t hardly move. Jomn grabbed Callen’s ankles and pulled up a pant leg, then stuffed the stones into his sock. They felt colder than the ice that he had been dragged across as they numbed his leg and started clouding his thoughts.

Jomn pulled a large knife out of his coat. He grabbed Callen’s arms so that his shoulders twisted, then cut the strap binding his wrists. He held Callen’s right hand out firmly, then with a smirk, he slashed the knife over Callen’s palm.

Callen screamed, more in horror than in pain since his body was already so achy and numb. Blood streamed from his hand as Jomn picked him up and carried him toward the stone relief. As they approached, the floor in front of the wall started glowing softly, making Jomn wince and step back.

“This is as far as I can go, boy. Let’s see if that blood of yours really works.”

Jomn threw Callen toward the wall. Callen held up his hands to brace himself for the impact, and as he fell into the stone carving, blood from his hand streaked across the strange images. The stones in his sock immediately became hot on his leg, and Callen pulled on his pant leg trying to extract them. He succeeded and threw the stones as far as he could, then collapsed on the glowing floor.

A low rumble filled the chamber as the floor started glowing even brighter. All at once the glowing ceased as a split appeared in the middle of the carving. The stone relief pulled itself apart, rumbling over the chamber floor as two enormous stone panels opened wide, revealing a passageway further into the mountain. Callen stared at the expanding threshold, too drained of energy to be alarmed. Once the panels were opened as wide as the passageway, they scraped to a halt and silence filled the chamber once more.

“Great work, my boy,” Jomn said, strangely amicably as he picked up the two stones from the floor. “I told you that you would be the lad to help me find this place.” He started walking toward the passageway. “I have no further use for you, but if you want to see what’s inside, by all means, come in.”

Callen lay on the rocky floor as Jomn walked through the passage into the chamber beyond. He watched Jomn disappear into darkness, then a bright light began shining from deep within.

Too beat up and tired to feel anything but defeated, Callen got to his knees. He couldn’t leave the cave; he would surely die. At least it wasn’t so cold in here. Callen pushed himself up with his good hand and shakily stood. He might as well see what lay beyond the stone doorway. Jomn didn’t seem to be a threat anymore, and Callen’s curiosity was starting to grow.

Callen gingerly walked toward the threshold and through the passageway. He came upon Jomn standing in the middle of an enormous chamber far larger than the first room of the cavern. Callen couldn’t make anything out at first, the rainbow of light streaming from Jomn’s hand was too intense. Slowly his eyes adjusted until he was able to look around.

All along the walls were enormous stone figures that towered to the cavern ceiling, more than double the height of a tall man. Standing on thick stone legs, the statues looked like they were carved straight out of the walls of the chamber themselves, at least a dozen of them side-by-side around the room. Their massive bodies were roughly hewn in blocky profiles, and their faces were cold and lifeless, with three holes where eyes should have been.

Callen stared at the statues surrounding the chamber, astounded at the discovery. Jomn took his light and walked toward one of the figures. He set his lightsource on the floor, then climbed up the statue’s back until he was on its head. He reached into his bag and pulled out a stone, which he set firmly within one of the empty eye sockets on the statue’s face. In the brilliant light from the floor, Callen recognized the unmistakable green shimmer.

“What are these?” Callen finally managed. “They look like trolls.”

Jomn chuckled as he pulled another stone from his bag. “Not trolls, those aren’t real. These are probably where those stories come from, though.” He fitted another stone into the next empty eye socket, this time the reddish metal one Jomn had stuffed into Callen’s sock. “These are the Gorumi. I’ve been looking for them for years now. My Order has tasked me with finding them and bringing them to the Merengian city of Plaam so we can free our Master and finish what we started centuries ago.”

Jomn pulled a third stone and placed it in the final slot. It was a hotrock, reflecting bright orange in the dazzling light. Jomn shimmied down the side of the statue and walked around until he was facing it.

Callen sat back down on the floor, clutching his palm. “How are you going to move them?” he asked, trying to sound confident. “You’ll need a whole crew. There’s no way you can do that without the entire town knowing what you’re up to.”

Jomn smiled broadly. “I have a crew, right here.” He held up a sparkling purple gem, the same one he had been holding when he had killed Lennig. The three stones in the statue’s head started to glow as the room shook softly.

“Gorumus!” Jomn’s shout echoed around the chamber. “I am your master now. Awaken!”

-----

Margus Saltwood led the way through craggy foothills toward the towering cliff. A lightstone hung from a chain around his neck, illuminating his path as he trailblazed over windswept snowdrifts. Cannie Saltwood brought up the rear of the party as she encouraged Arlin and Oudalla Marsher forward. They had all been walking for hours and the cold was starting to creep through their sheepskins.

“This is a good spot, wouldn’t you say?” Margus halted as he called back to Cannie. “Can’t be much further now.”

Cannie caught up to him and looked toward the imposing cliff. “Yes, this will do.”

She set down her bundle. Margus did the same, and they both started pulling things out of their bags and placing them on the ground. Arlin and Oudalla, out of breath and glad for a pause, sat down in the snow.

Soon enough, a kettle was pulled from Margus’s pack and Cannie dropped a hotrock inside to start a pot of tea. Arlin’s eyebrows spoke for him, and Cannie smiled at his surprise.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, “we aren’t staying long. Just a quick warm-up, then we’ll be on our way.”

Arlin sputtered. “Aren’t we in a hurry? Our son is with that crazy wizard, what if we’re too late?”

Cannie smiled kindly as she prepared four mugs for the steaming brew. “It doesn’t matter when we show up if our minds are not prepared.” She pulled the hotrock out of the kettle and started pouring. “This tea is brewed with horga from the saltmarshes. It’s a fascinating little plant, with several medicinal qualities.” Cannie passed the cups around the group. “While experimenting with it, I discovered it reacts to certain celestial stones in a manner very similar to one of the stones known as giant’s teardrop. It’s a rusty-looking metal found all over the place in trace amounts. Well, my theory is that the metal accumulates in the saltmarsh, then the horga plants absorb it into their leaves, meaning that when the tea touches the hotrock in the kettle, it’s creating a connection between the hotrock and giant’s teardrop.”

Cannie took a sip and smiled at Arlin’s and Oudalla’s confused reactions. “Hotrock and giant’s teardrop is a powerful combination that heals your body and brain, and can cure you of anything that is affecting your mind, or trying to control it. It doesn’t protect you from it, necessarily, but as long as it’s in our bellies when we confront Jomn, it should help us shake off anything he tries to throw at us.”

Everyone quickly finished their tea as Cannie and Margus packed up. They all shouldered their packs, then Cannie pulled out a small leather pouch and brought it over to where the Marshers now stood.

“These are for you to wear. Even though you won’t be able to wield them, they should offer you some protection.” Cannie pulled two fine chain necklaces from her pouch, each with a small lightstone and hotrock dangling from the ends. “These will help you as long as they’re touching your skin. The lightstone will give you mental clarity, and the hotrock will give you strength. When held together on your body, they will heighten your reflexes. Just be sure you don’t touch any other celestial stones while you’re wearing them.”

Cannie handed Arlin and Oudalla the necklaces. They squinted from the emanating beams of light, not quite as bright as from Cannie’s larger lightstone, but still enough to cut through the dark night.

Cannie gave a satisfied nod once both necklaces had found their way under the shirts of their new bearers. “Alright, Margus, it’s time.”

Cannie walked back to her husband who was holding out two small metallic stones. The lightstone’s glow glinted off the silvery stones, revealing spiky formations on their surfaces. Cannie selected one, holding it firmly in her hand, while Margus closed his fist around the other. Together they turned to face the steep mountain, and with Arlin and Oudalla trailing closely behind, the four of them marched purposefully toward the imposing cliff.

-----

Low rumbling permeated the stale air as pebbles fell to the ground in a clatter. A creaking and scraping of rock twisted and writhed, its form stretching and turning in the unnatural light. Dormant for thousands of years, the figure slowly shook off thick layers of dust as the gargantuan form found itself moving once again.

Callen Marsher gaped as he watched the enormous stone statue come to life. As the thing took a deliberate step forward, the chamber was filled with chilling laughter.

Jomn raised his hands into the air and whooped. “Hail, Carnissus, lord of the world! I have mastered the Gorumi and now I, Avastus of the Prodkin, shall release you from your prison and avenge Gorum in your name. Hail to the Five, and may the world once again be ruled by their wisdom!”

Callen slowly pushed himself backward along the floor, horrified by the implications in Jomn’s raving.

Jomn looked back toward Callen and smirked. “Impressive, isn’t it? Nothing to be done now but watch, I’m afraid.”

Jomn walked up to the Gorumus, holding the purple gem to his temple. The enormous stone creature reached down with an arm and held out its rocky hand. Jomn climbed on and the Gorumus lifted him up, delicately placing him on the head of another giant statue.

Jomn reached into his bag and pulled out a vormite stone. “As soon as they are all awake,” he taunted, “we march to free a god. You have until then to decide where your loyalties lie.” He stuck the stone into a socket on the new Gorumus. “The world will be remade very soon, and all who defy Carnissus will be destroyed. Make your choice carefully.”

As Jomn pulled out another stone from his bag, Callen became aware of a clattering of footsteps running up behind him.

“Callen!”

His mother and father fell onto the floor around him and held him in a tight embrace. Cannie and Margus Saltwood ran past them and, unfazed, approached Jomn.

“Prodkin,” Cannie yelled up at Jomn who was taken aback by their sudden appearance. “Cease this evil at once!”

Jomn sneered as he held up his purple stone. “You’re too late, witch. The Gorumi are mine!”

As he spoke, the activated Gorumus with shining stone eyes stepped toward Cannie and Margus. It leaned forward and swung a heavy arm at them, barely missing their heads as the Saltwoods dropped to the floor. Cannie jumped up and raised a spiky silver stone into the air. She yelled out as a blast of energy shot toward Jomn, throwing him off the head of the Gorumus and into the wall behind him. He fell to the floor, dropping his purple gem which clattered a few feet away. The active Gorumus stopped moving immediately, frozen in mid-swing.

“Margus, stall him!” Cannie cried as she ran to the opposite side of the chamber. Margus got up and started toward the moonstone on the floor, but Jomn was much closer to the fallen gem. Jomn scrambled toward it, but just as he was reaching out to grab it, Margus held out his own silvery stone and drew the purple gem toward himself, catching it in the air with his free hand.

Jomn cursed loudly. “You want to play with sharpsilver, do you?” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a spiny silver stone, much larger than Margus’s. He stood up quickly, brandishing the sharpsilver stone, then in a rage he yelled as he let out a forceful blast of energy toward Margus.

Margus had been ready, and shielded himself with energy from his own stone. The chamber trembled as the two blasts ricocheted off each other around the walls. Margus held his hand out in a pulling motion and Jomn’s feet were yanked forward out from under him, sending him falling backward onto the hard floor.

Jomn roared furiously, reaching his hand up toward the cavern ceiling above Margus. A large crack appeared in the stone ceiling, and large chunks of rock started falling down toward Margus. Margus reached up with both hands and paused the stones in midair, but Jomn was already standing and took advantage of Margus’s distraction to levitate Margus over the floor into the far wall of the chamber. Margus doubled over, dropping his stones.

Jomn laughed. “You’re out of practice, old man,” he shouted as he drew Margus’s stones through the air. “You and your wife should never have meddled in my affairs.” Jomn caught the stones as they flew toward him. “Gorumus, awaken once more!”

 

Callen and his parents huddled in the entrance of the large chamber, trying to stay out of the way of the chaos that was erupting around them. Callen’s father had helped him aside, and his mother was now tending to his wounds, particularly the open gash running the length of his palm.

“Oh, Callen,” she exclaimed as tears welled up in her eyes.

Callen couldn’t look her in the face. “Mom, I—” he started, but his mother shushed him softly.

“It’s ok, dear. You just rest, I’ll take care of this.”

Callen’s mother pulled out the kettle of tea from Margus’s bag which was lying next to them on the floor. She dribbled some onto Callen’s hand, then held up the kettle to his lips.

“Drink,” she encouraged. “It’ll help, I think.”

Callen grabbed the kettle with his other hand and slowly drank from the rim. He felt the warmth fill his body, giving him a calming sense of peace. His mother and father smiled as they watched him, trying not to look too concerned at his condition.

The three Marshers embraced for a moment, but a ground-shaking rumble made them all look up into the chamber. Margus was lying on the ground several yards away from them, and stomping toward him with massive stone legs was Jomn’s Gorumus.

“Margus, move!” Arlin shouted hurriedly, but Margus could only prop himself up on an elbow. The giant moving statue came closer and closer to where Margus lay, until it was standing directly over him. It lifted an enormous foot above Margus’s head, but before it was able to bring it down again, another Gorumus collided with it, sending Jomn’s creature toppling over onto the chamber floor with a deafening crash.

“What!?” Jomn screamed as he whirled around to look at the other side of the chamber.

There, standing at the far wall with a moonstone clutched to her forehead, was Cannie Saltwood.

“No!” Jomn yelled as he gripped his own moonstone tighter. “These are mine!”

Jomn turned his attention back to his own Gorumus, now struggling to get off the floor. He held out his and Margus’s sharpsilver, and the stone giant lifted off the floor and came down heavily onto its feet again. Jomn swiped his hand backward and Cannie’s Gorumus toppled this time, falling over into an unactivated statue. Jomn held his moonstone to his temple and his Gorumus started lumbering toward Cannie, rattling the chamber walls with each step.

Margus pushed himself up to standing and limped over to where the Marshers sat huddled together. He kneeled down next to them and opened his bag.

“Callen,” he wheezed, “do you think you can climb one of these statues?”

Callen looked from Margus to the top of the nearest Gorumus. He was still achy, but the tea had filled his body with energy, and his hand didn’t hurt so much anymore.

“Probably. Why?”

Margus pulled out four small pouches from his bag and handed them to Callen. “Here’s what I need you to do—”

 

Jomn’s Gorumus was rapidly closing in toward the wall where Cannie Saltwood stood, pinning her into one corner of the chamber. Her own Gorumus still struggling to stand, she racked her brain for a way out. Her piece of sharpsilver wasn’t nearly as large or crystallized as Jomn’s, and while she was able to slow the approaching creature, she was unable to knock it aside as Jomn had done.

The giant plodded closer and closer, and as it neared, the lightstone around Cannie’s neck illuminated the Gorumus’s stone eyes. Cannie immediately knew what to do. Dropping her moonstone on the ground, she grabbed the lightstone and yanked it off her neck, breaking the fine chain. She held the brilliant stone in her opened palm, and then, gripping her sharpsilver tightly, she levitated the shining lightstone into the air and flung it toward the head of the Gorumus.

Her aim was true, and the lightstone struck the vormite wedged in one of the giant’s eye sockets. There was a bright explosion as rocks flew everywhere and a shimmer of glittering lightstone shards landed all over the chamber. Cannie hid behind another Gorumus statue until all the tumbling rocks fell silent, then looked out upon the rubble. There, standing very still, was a headless Gorumus, now forever just a statue.

 

Callen was high above the chamber floor as he watched Jomn’s Gorumus explode into pieces. He held on tightly to his own statue’s head as he looked through the bags Margus had given him, trying to recall the correct order. Vormite first, then the red one. Callen reached into the vormite pouch and pulled out the stone inside, much larger and heavier than the ones he had handled before. He leaned over to place the stone in the first socket, but as he held the vormite in his bare hand, his mind started clouding, and he became filled with a profound fear of Jomn.

Jomn, who had been cursing and flinging stones at Cannie since his Gorumus had exploded, paused his tirade and looked around. He glanced up toward Callen, and a wide smile stretched across his face.

Callen gasped. The vormite was connecting their minds back together! He had to hurry if he was going to succeed in waking up this statue for Margus.

Jomn reached into a pocket, then in Callen’s mind he heard Jomn’s voice as clearly as if they were right next to each other.

“Callen,” Jomn’s voice called in his head. “It is folly. They have already lost, and now you have made your decision. You will die here tonight, all five of you.”

Jomn held up his sharpsilver and Callen’s statue shook violently. Callen shoved the vormite into the first eye socket, not wishing to touch the draining gem any longer. His thoughts cleared a little, but Jomn had already turned his full attention toward him. It was now or never.

Callen opened up another bag and reached inside intending to draw out the lump of giant’s teardrop, but he pulled a gleaming purple gem out instead.  Moonstone.

The stone sparkled softly in front of Callen’s eyes, and he noticed he could clearly see every facet on the exquisite gem, as well as the tiny details on his own hands. He looked down at Jomn, but Jomn was no longer there. In his place was a tall, wrinkled creature, hardly a man, with a high forehead curtained with silvery strands of hair framing a long face with cat-like eyes and needly teeth.

Avastus, Callen recalled, the words filling his mind.  A Prodkin.

Avastus’s clawed hands gripped a sharpsilver stone as his face contorted with anger. “So you See me, do you? Well, it shall be one of the last things you ever see!”

Callen was wrenched from atop the head of his statue and pulled through the air, still gripping his moonstone and silently screaming as he was brought to a halt a few inches in front of Avastus’s wretched face.

“You had your chance to join me and you chose these fools instead. Now yours will be the worst fate of them all. You must watch your pitiful family get torn into pieces before your very eyes!”

Avastus held a hand out toward the chamber threshold and Callen’s parents were lifted up into the air.

“No!” shouted Callen, as the chamber let out a tremendous rumble. “Let them go!”

Avastus laughed, a high-pitched evil laugh Callen had never heard before from Jomn. “You are in no place to bargain, boy. Now tell me, who shall I pull apart first?”

The arms of Callen’s parents stretched wide as their faces filled with anguish. Callen tried to think of something to say but nothing came.

“Your mother, perhaps? Excellent choice.”

Callen’s mother cried out in pain as her arms were pulled wider.

“Stop, please!” Callen’s yell reverberated around the chamber as the walls shook. Small rocks started crumbling from the ceiling above him.

“Callen, look! The Gorumi!”

It was Cannie’s voice, from the far side of the chamber. She was on her knees, clearly injured, but her eyes were wide as she gestured around at the statues along the walls. All the Gorumi were shifting slightly as their bodies scraped and creaked, and all their heads, though void of eyestones, were facing Callen.

“Use the moonstone,” Cannie implored him, “tell them to do something.”

Callen considered for a quick moment, then at the top of his lungs he commanded, “stop Avastus!”

All at once, the entire chamberful of statues turned their heavy bodies toward the center of the room and started taking slow, methodical steps toward Avastus, who looked around the chamber with increasing alarm. Callen fell to the floor along with his parents as Avastus spun around and started blasting bolts of energy at the giants closing in on him.

“Hurry,” Cannie yelled as she got to her feet, “we need to leave, now!”

The five of them helped each other through the passage out of the chamber as Avastus’s screams grew more frantic.

“It was your blood, Callen,” Cannie said breathlessly once they reached the far side of the passageway. “In using your blood to open this chamber, Jomn unwittingly connected you with all the Gorumi. All you needed was a moonstone.”

Callen looked back through the passageway into the chamber. The Gorumi were pummelling the stone floor, Avastus’s yells no longer heard. Callen looked down at the moonstone in his hand, then up toward his parents. They were beaming back at him, with Cannie and Margus smiling proudly. Cannie caught his eye and gave him an encouraging nod. Callen looked back toward the chamber, holding the moonstone to his forehead as Cannie had done. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then muttered softly.

The Gorumi stopped smashing the floor and stood up straight, then each walked to a different part of the chamber wall and lifted their enormous fists above their heads. All together they struck the walls, and a mighty rumble shook the very mountain as the chamber ceiling collapsed, crushing all the Gorumi into rubble and sealing the chamber forever.

“Let’s go, quickly,” Margus encouraged as the five of them hurried to the mouth of the cave, rocks falling around them as they ran. They made it out of the cavern just as the rays of the Bright Sun started peeking over the hilltops to the east, filling the early morning sky with greenish light.

Callen hugged his parents tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “I didn’t—”

“None of that,” Cannie interrupted. “You did wonderfully, and I daresay you saved us all. The only one who did anything wrong was Jomn.” Cannie smiled brightly as she joined the Marshers’ hug. “Let’s all go home. I need to get back so I can prepare some lessons for my two new apprentices.”