Quoi stalked down the street, pounding his frustration into the paving stones, angry with himself for losing control. The Elders would be on guard now, making his plan more difficult to implement. He had to be careful. His high standing in the community would only take him so far. If they got nervous, he wouldn’t be surprised if they turned on him too.
The thought saddened him. He'd lived in
To his mind, they had no justified reason for their hatred and fear of Rasa. The man had never given them true cause to fear him – at least until recently. But instead of giving him the benefit of the doubt, they’d betrayed him in an instant.
The well kept wood shingled houses sheltered people who were wonderful in the good times, but as he saw now, unreliable in the bad. Quoi hated them for it.
He scanned his hometown with disillusioned eyes. It was quiet today, but usually the air was filled with sounds of chatter as people baked, cleaned and went about their daily chores. There wasn't much left to do this year; the harvests had been brought in over the last month. Now was a time of celebration. The next weeks would be filled with festivals and parties.
For the first time in his life, he had no wish to participate. He was surrounded by the fullness of life, but it meant nothing to him if there was no honor in it.
"Quoi! Wait!"
Quoi spun to see who it was, not bothering to hide his irritation. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for company.
Braden. The man had worked in the fields alongside him for years. Not too bright, but a good man. At least he thought he was. He no longer trusted his own judgment. Quoi let his voice rumble with annoyance.
"What do you want, Braden?"
The man slid to a stop several paces away, reluctant to get too close. Had word of the fight at the courthouse already reached him?
"What happened Quoi?” asked Braden. “What was the verdict? I had to run the horses and didn’t make it to the sentencing."
Quoi cast about for a way to cut the conversation short. He really wasn't in the mood.
"They sentenced him to life in Lumax prison. He'll be dead in no time. Then the Elders can go back to thinking they're safe when they're not."
Braden recoiled. "Life in Lumax! That is harsh.” He looked thoughtful. “But what he did was bad, Quoi. Everyone says those Elders are dead."
Quoi snorted. He’d already heard snippets of this conversation several times today. "Braden, the Tracker only said he couldn’t find them, not that they were dead. They’re probably alive and well, just out of range. You know Rasa as well as I do. Do you really think he would do something like this on his own?"
Braden looked at the ground, not wanting to meet Quoi's eye. "Rasa had a reputation for mischief, everyone knows that. Who knows what he got himself into?"
Quoi crossed his arms across his chest, resisting the urge to punch Braden to the ground. He shook his head, astonished his people refused to see what was right in front of them.
"Don’t bother repeating that crap to me, Braden. Use your brain and think for yourself. He didn’t do this alone and sending him to Lumax doesn’t make us safe. Look, I have to go. Maybe I'll see you at the Halloween Festival next week."
Quoi knew it was a lie. With any luck, he’d be far away from here finding out the truth.
He turned to leave, hoping he’d effectively shut down the conversation. He glanced back and caught Braden staring at him speculatively. Braden probably assumed what everyone assumed: that Quoi knew something about Rasa’s activities. As longtime friends, they were forever linked in people's minds. The townspeople had been asking him about the missing Elders for weeks, hoping to glean any tidbit of information.
Quoi didn’t know anything, but to his eternal shame he felt he should have. Ever since the discovery of his own Gift, he hadn’t spent much time with Rasa, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should paid more attention. He should have known something was wrong. They’d always taken care of each other, but this time he’d failed miserably.
Early on in the investigation the Elders had questioned him, then let him go. At first he'd been surprised they'd taken him at his word, then it dawned on him it was because of his status as a respected Stone Shaper. Just because of what he was, they'd believed him. And just because of what Rasa was, they'd assumed his guilt. Perhaps nothing had really changed from the Before times, when people routinely feared, persecuted and ostracized those who were different.
Quoi picked up the pace, needing to be alone. Preferably before he hurt somebody.
He arrived at the outer edge of town. His house faced north out into the fields, affording a glorious view of rolling green hills and farmland lined with trees. The simple, granite cottage suited him nicely. Except for the flowerboxes hanging off the windows. Those were his mother's idea.
She'd filled them with flowers, insisting the homey feel would attract a future bride to his doorstep. Not that he needed it. Thanks to his good looks and status as a Stone Shaper, he could say the word to the woman of his choice and he’d have himself a wife. Trouble was, he'd never found one he wanted to marry.
He supposed no woman would be interested in him now. Being a suspected accomplice of a convicted murderer wouldn’t do much for his love life.
He swung the unlocked front door open and marched into the house. He brushed the polished granite walls with his fingertips, hoping for comfort, but the energies felt cold and spare. There would be no joy in his life until he cleared Rasa’s name.
He splashed his face with water from the washbasin in the kitchen and slicked back his dark blonde hair, ridding himself of the sweat and dust of the day. Drying himself with a soft cloth from a nearby peg, he strode to his workshop behind the house. He needed a distraction.
The Elders had built it for him out of a community fund when they'd discovered his Gift. The last six years he’d lived and breathed in the workshop, determined to catch up to his peers.
Most Gifts were discovered by early puberty but not Quoi’s. His father had been an extremely Gifted Stone Shaper, but his mother had been unGifted, making Quoi a half-breed. As a result, his Gift hadn't surfaced until he was nineteen. By then his peers were far ahead of him in skill and education, so he’d spent every waking hour making up lost ground, trying to be as good as everyone else.
It had been difficult. The rift between the Gifted and non-Gifted was so deep his father had been ostracized by his own family for marrying his mother. Quoi had one foot in both worlds, with no one side entirely accepting him.
But the miracle of his Gift made it well worth the trouble. When he touched stone, he could feel the spirit within and coax it to a new form, creating any Shape he wanted. Perhaps he was merely psychic, but it felt like magic. Maybe it was. Everyone had their pet theories, but no one really knew the answer.
All anyone knew was 2058 A.D. had been a very Bad Year. The histories taught that a wizardess had constructed a powerful ritual designed to bring magic back into the world. One that switched on the Earth’s ley lines and reversed the magnetic poles of the Earth instantly, severing the age of reason and bringing on an age of magic. But her well-intentioned ritual had gone awry, and the abrupt change caused great geologic disruption, and volcanoes planet-wide covered the earth in deep ash.
Civilization collapsed and millions died, but after a few thousand years the human race began to recover, and it became apparent the ritual had been a success despite the destruction. The magnetic shift had not only changed the face of the earth, but the people as well, switching on abilities that previously were only legend.
In Quoi’s case, he had an affinity with stone, but others found they worked best with wood or gems. Rare ones like Rasa could leave their bodies and fly through the air as spirits, tracking anyone, anywhere. Some could see visions and others could feel the energy lines in the earth. Still others had odd abilities not easily defined.
Quoi knew there were far more Gifts than officially accepted, but people kept it to themselves, not wanting to invite fear and suspicion. Considering the reception Rasa had gotten today, he was beginning to understand why.
Over time, Gifted people banded together, creating a society devoted to order and peace. Quoi suspected it was more to calm the unGifted and keep them from burning Clansmen as witches rather than out of a true need to give back to the world. Nevertheless, the Gifted Clans were tolerated as long as they kept to their code of honor and service.
Not that he was helping serve the world all that much. He knew Shaping garden statuary didn’t solve the world’s problems, but it gave him far more satisfaction than his previous occupation as a farm hand. He'd improved his skills so much he’d earned the right to sell his creations at the country fair. For extra money he also helped maintain the stone walls that dotted the countryside. It was a good life.
Before Rasa had been convicted of murder, he had thought it would be enough.
Various blocks of marble, quartz and granite littered his workshop, set haphazardly to the side, leaving the middle open to work. Quoi settled on his leather, padded work stool and studied a block of white marble he’d chosen for the fine grain and subtle chips of gray sparkle.
There was no point in dwelling on Rasa’s fate. There was nothing he could do about it until later. Better to focus on something constructive while he waited.
A local farmer had commissioned a wood spirit for her garden. He had no idea why she wanted a wood spirit made out of stone, but whatever she wanted was fine as long as he got paid.
He’d had to ask the town library for permission to do research in the ancient books room to find out what the hell a wood spirit was. They’d made him fill out piles of paperwork, but he’d patiently jumped through the hoops, knowing it was for the best. Towns zealously guarded books recopied through the centuries from originals found buried under ash from the cataclysm. So few people had survived those times; the books were all they had to help them understand what life was like Before. The knowledge was worth more to them than gold.
Even the wealthy read them avidly, modeling themselves after scant, tantalizing descriptions of 18th century
And they weren’t the only ones obsessed with ancient books. He could have happily spent his life in the library, no matter how much paperwork they made him fill out. He’d worked through the books slowly, savoring each one, and finally found a sketch of the wood spirit. He thought it was hideous, but a little tweaking would make it attractive enough.
The farmer was going to love the prestige of having something straight from the minds of the ancients. No matter the class, anything ancient was all the rage these days.
Quoi removed his stone rings, not wanting to ruin them, and placed his hands on the cool stone, closed his eyes and let the solidity of it calm his mind. It took longer than usual to summon his Gift, but in moments energy flowed from his fingertips into the marble. He connected with the stone’s spirit and visualized what he wanted, moving his hands over the surface in precise movements. Pieces flaked to the floor, first in large chunks and then in smaller ones as he moved inward. He worked tirelessly until the rough shape of the statue emerged.
He stood up and circled her, eyeing the proportions to make sure he had it right. He traced lightly over her head, letting the stone ripple into the Shape of her face, enjoying the sensitivity of his fingertips next to her smooth cheeks and arched brows. The stone fell off in whispers, revealing a classically beautiful arrangement, her hair spilling down her back in waves. Then he outlined small wrinkles at the corners of the spirit's eyes, giving her life and character.
Quoi whimsically kissed her on the lips and Shaped the fine lines of her body, pulling and teasing the spirit with the finesse of his hands. Leaning back, he assessed his work, trying to be objective. She was turning out quite well; exactly what he’d want in a woman if he could ask for one from the gods, made to order.
He worked her body, molding a strategically draped cloth to preserve her modesty. He gently kneaded one small breast into Shape, then the other, careful to leave just a hint of nipple showing through the fabric. Erotic images flew through his head as he worked, the stone warming as it rippled and Shaped under his touch.
Quoi journeyed down to her belly, his pants tightening uncomfortably as he pulled in the nip of her waist. Painfully aroused, his mouth quirked in amusement. It had been too long since his last lover. When the business with Rasa was over, he needed to find a partner and fast.
He thought about all the women he’d known and created a composite of them, pulling out their best features, imprinting his spirit with hints of what had left him hot and wanting.
He ran his hands lovingly over her belly and touched a finger to where her navel should be. He wished she were a nude statue so he could go further south in great detail, but it was not meant to be. Instead, he gave her just a hint of V at the juncture of her legs, the cloth pressed against her, hiding her secrets. His large hands flowed down her legs, kneading her thighs and calves. Then kneeling down on the floor, he molded small, perfect feet.
He paused, panting lightly from his exertions, laughing softly under his breath. He’d practically made love to a block of stone. If only she’d come to life and wrap herself around his waist.
He positioned himself behind her, his hands roving down her back. She wasn’t going to move for him, but it was better than nothing, better than thinking about Rasa.
Rasa.
His anger flared and his power surged out of him into the statue. The energy soured and warped her with his rage, flowing into the wood spirit full force. She bucked and twisted, her body bubbling and melting like molten lava under his hands. He pulled back quickly, but it was too late.
He scrutinized his unfortunate handiwork and swore loudly. A perfectly good piece of marble, and he had nothing to show for it. Her face was screwed up in a grimace, and her body contorted backwards in an unnatural position.
Dammit, she looked like she was in pain.
One moment of inattention had ruined his wood spirit forever. Large chunks of her lay on the floor and melting it back together would ruin the grain of the marble. There wasn’t enough left of her to make a full statue, and he hadn’t the heart to make her less than what she was.
He rubbed his forehead, smoothing out the tension, doubting the farmer would be pleased with his work.
He went to pack. Nothing was going to be normal until the business with Rasa was over. The wood spirit would have to wait.
In his small bedroom, he opened a chest and pulled out a backpack. He violently stuffed it with clothing, bringing enough for a few nights’ travel. If it took longer than that, his plan would fail. He slammed the chest of drawers shut, venting his bad mood on the furniture, then went to the kitchen and packed cheese, bread, dried fruits and meats. The route he planned kept him close to water, so he wouldn't have to carry much.
He finished off with blankets and a knife, then sat down at the kitchen table. Someone knocked at the door - he ignored it. They could all go to hell. When they left, he sighed with relief. Provoking him in this mood would land him in jail right beside Rasa.
He ate an early dinner, then returned to the workshop to stare at his poor wood spirit. He glumly ran his hands through his hair. She was a bad omen. He just knew it.
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