Aster Wood and the Lost Maps of Almara (Book 1) (13 page)

“Where did you go?” he whispered.

“The alleyways,” I said. “I’m sorry. I got lost once I was clear of them. What happened after I ran?”

“The dark one was furious. He ordered his entire guard after you. They didn’t notice me, but I saw them searching for you for the rest of the day. They’ve been questioning the towns people. You stick out with that glowing mop on your head.”

I absently ran my hand through my hair. I had been targeted, and now it wouldn’t just be the children of this place interested in my appearance.

“What am I going to do?” I asked nervously.
 

“Don’t worry about it yet. It’s still black out and there’s no one around. But we’ll need to come up with a plan before dawn.”

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I searched high and low through the market, but I didn’t find nothin’. And the stones in the square reveal no secrets. We’ll search now, while the guards sleep. You take the north side of the square, I’ll take the south. We’ll meet in the middle.”

I didn’t like the idea of splitting up again so soon after reuniting, but I was feeling lucky I had avoided a lecture about my flight earlier. And relieved at having located my companion again. I nodded, and we set off in opposite directions.

The edges of the square were lined with little shops and offices, vacant and dark. I stepped quietly past each of them, peering into the small windows, searching for any sign of Almara. I ran my hands along the walls of the shops, trying to keep from running into them in the darkness. After passing several of the facades, my hands slipped from the rough stone of the buildings to something smooth and round and cold. Several of these unusual rocks were placed side by side, at least twenty. I took a step back from them, trying to determine what sort of stone the pavers were hewn from. Maybe it was a clue.
 

Suddenly, I understood. I covered my scream with both of my hands as I realized I was facing a long row of human skulls in varying states of decay. Then, realizing that I had just been touching them, I frantically wiped my hands on my pants. I furiously rubbed my mouth with the edges of my shirt, trying hard not to let a single sound escape me. I moved quickly to the end of the row until I found the ragged stone again. I walked quickly past the next few facades, trying to put distance between myself and the carnage.

I rested my back against a wall when I was far enough away to be able to breathe again. What was this place? Chills ran down my spine when I remembered the children I had seen earlier today. They lived out their lives with trophies like this to look at every single day. It was disgusting. And terrifying.

When I caught my breath, I moved on, this time taking the chance of a knock on the head and keeping my hands down. I had rounded the first side of the square, and was just turning to investigate the next when a flash of light caught my eye.
 

The representation of the symbol was brief, and I almost missed it entirely. Sitting in the window of a small shop was a slim, silver device, lit only by a single oil lamp deep in the interior. The several parts to it moved constantly. Two circles entwined with each other and spun around a center diamond. From the front it was unrecognizable, merely a trinket on sale in a shop. But when viewed from the side, the circles changed shape, elongating into ovals. Every tenth rotation, the top and bottom star of the symbol would be visible for just a fraction of a second.
 

It was a trick. Nobody looking at this device from the main square would see what I could see now. It would take viewing it from the side, at just the right angle, for the circles to appear elongated, and only every couple of minutes did the two stars become visible. They flashed so briefly that any onlooker would think it was simply a trick of the light, and after regarding it for another moment would look away.
 

I, however, knew better.
 

I approached the window and looked inside. A man sat behind a desk amidst mountains of trinkets. What was he doing up so late? I moved closer and tapped softly on the glass. He looked up at me over his spectacles for a quick moment, then waved me away with his hand and bent down again to his work. I tapped again. He glared up at me once more, and impatiently waved me away again.
 

I thought about my options. I could wait until morning, when the cover of darkness would no longer be my ally, until he opened his shop. I could pound on the door right now, hoping that he would let me in with minimal fuss and that I wouldn’t call the attention of any guards. Or I could somehow, silently, convince him to allow me entry.
 

I continued walking around the square towards the next corner where Kiron and I would meet. I could just make out his shadow as he darted in and out of hiding, making his way towards me. He was taking forever, but I didn’t dare come out from where I hid, nestled into the doorway of a tailor shop.
 

When he finally arrived he breathed, “Anythin’?”

“Yes. Follow me.”

I led him to a dark corner a couple doors down from where I had seen the symbol.
 

“Watch.” I pointed to the window.

After a couple of minutes the rotating pieces aligned and Kiron gasped. He started to walk towards the window, grabbing my arm to pull him along, but I planted my feet. He turned, not understanding.

“I already tried twice,” I whispered. “There’s a man inside but he won’t come to the door.”

He looked towards the window, and then back to me, his eyes darting around as he thought.

“Show him the pack,” he finally said.
 

“Why?” The pack was a treasure, and I was wary of showing anyone I met what it could do. “It’ll probably just scare him.”

“No, the
symbol
on the pack.”

“Oh!” Yes, of course. If he saw Almara’s symbol on the pack, he would know I was someone he could trust.
 

We both moved towards the window. I removed the canvas from my back and revealed it as we closed the distance. Then, when we reached the glass, I held it up, showing the symbol clearly. I tapped again.
 

The man was clearly irritated, and he ignored my tapping. I persisted, and with the third round of insistent taps he threw his pen down on the table and stood up from his chair, glaring at us through the glass. For a moment his eyes only saw my face, then Kiron’s, but then they moved over to the pack and his snarl faded. Upon seeing the symbol, his mouth dropped open and his eyes grew round. He quickly made his way around the desk and shuffled to the door, unlocking several bolts. The door flew open and he pulled us both through it, furiously bolting it back up behind him as if expecting the devil himself to arrive on our heels.

He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
 

“Come, both of you, hurry back here,” he said nervously, and he pulled us towards the back of the shop. He was a short, round man, and I watched the back of his shiny, bald head as we moved through the mountains of merchandise. Every table was piled high with trinkets of all sorts; dishes, goblets, jewelry, chairs piled on top of one another, little boxes for keeping treasures, and books, everywhere books. One might call it an antique shop…or a junk shop, depending on your perspective.

He thrust us through the doorway at the back of the place into a tiny room. Once inside, he retreated back into the shop and returned a moment later with the candle. He closed the door behind him and set the candle down before he spoke again. He seemed to be having a harder and harder time doing so the more he looked at us.

“What—” he began, and then, “Who—” He seemed incapable of speaking a full sentence. I put my bag down on the floor and slumped into one of the two chairs that were wedged into the space, waiting for him to compose himself. This was the first time I had felt at all safe since leaving Kiron’s farm.
 

“Where did you…come from?” he got out finally, pushing up his thick spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. “Who are you?”

Kiron looked at him skeptically from where he leaned against the wall, and I was the first to speak. “My name is Aster,” I said. “Aster Wood. This is Kiron.” I motioned to my ancient traveling companion.

He seemed to not recognize my name. He continued to splutter for a moment and then finally collected himself.
 

“I am Chapman,” he got out at last. “You must forgive me, but I have never met another. All of these years I have followed, alone and unsure. And now two of you arrive at my door in the dead of night! Quite surprising.”

“What do you mean you’ve never met ‘another’? Another what?” I asked.

“Another Almarian,” he replied.

Kiron huffed.

“Almarian? What’s that?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” he said. “An Almarian. Surely you understand. Are you trying to trick me?” His eyes widened once more and darted back and forth between Kiron and I. He stepped back from the table. “Did…did the Shield send you? To…to…”

“An Almarian is a sort of follower,” Kiron said to me, ignoring him. “They see Almara as more of a god than a man. They worship him and what little of the frillier bits of history they are aware of, stories made pretty by the telling.” He turned back to the man. “I didn’t know that Almarians still existed among the planets in the Fold, I hear mention of him so seldom. Nobody sent us.”
 

Chapman looked terrified. He sure was anxious. “We came here on our own” I said, trying to calm him.

His face relaxed somewhat, not catching Kiron’s slight, but he went on more cautiously.
 

 
“Well, this is unheard of! Imagine, two servants of Almara in Stonemore!” His emotions seemed to be bobbing back and forth between fear and excitement.

“Well, we’re not really
servants
of Almara. It’s more like we’re sort of…following him.”

“We are the
Corretage
,” Kiron said, raising his head high and peering down his nose at Chapman.

Chapman’s face broke into a tentative smile.
 

“But, surely you must be joking,” he said, and looked at each of us in turn, waiting for us to laugh. Then, when we didn’t, he furrowed his brows in confusion. “But that is impossible!” he said.
 

I turned to Kiron. “What’s is ‘Corretage’?”
 

“It is the name of the group at the center of Almara’s original purpose,” he said. “Almara, the eight, my family, Brendan, and now you. There may be others, but I don’t know of ‘em. Truth be told, I’m surprised that a simple Almarian knows of it at all.”
 

Chapman picked up on the insult this time, and bristled.

“You are quick to judge the Almarians, friend, if you are who you say you are,” he said. “In any case, you’d best hide that mark you showed through the window. Just you flashing his symbol will mark you as a servant, and a traitor, here. Such…support is considered a crime in Stonemore. I’m surprised you weren’t discovered already. You’re lucky you didn’t find yourself tied to a whipping post before now.”

“A…whipping post?” A heavy weight dropped into the pit of my stomach, and I was reminded again of the skulls in the square. What had I gotten myself into?

“Oh, yes,” he replied. “Any mention of Almara is not tolerated in Stonemore.”

“But why?” I asked. It was my turn to be nervous.

He snorted. “In Stonemore, the great battle between Almara and Zarich cemented his status as an untouchable. Contact with, or even mention of, Almara results in imprisonment here.”

“Imprisonment? But isn’t Almara trying to help everyone in the Fold?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “But there are those who are threatened by his immense power. And they remain in Stonemore where they are in control.” He pulled back a chair and motioned to a short stool hidden under the table for Kiron to take. A look passed between Kiron and I. His told me to keep my wits about me. Mine told him to not be so rude. When he sat, Chapman began to speak.

“Many hundreds of years ago, when Almara and the eight made their way through Stonemore, Zarich the Great had issue with their intentions. At every turn he strove to trip them up, and yet they were able to continue in their quest here in the city, seemingly unharmed by Zarich’s meddling. Finally, infuriated by his inability to halt their explorations, Zarich and the Shield waged a great assault on Almara and the eight as they slept, and fighting ensued.” He smiled. “It is said that the center of Stonemore was lit up as if all the stars in the cosmos had descended here to participate, such a defense did Almara and the eight put forth.”

I had taken one bite of cheese from a plate Chapman had laid in the center of the table, but as I listened to him I had forgotten to chew it. I swallowed the hard lump so that I could speak again. “What happened next?”
 

“Zarich lost,” he answered, a note of triumph in his voice. “Those who followed Almara escaped Stonemore with him as the sun began to shine over the eastern hills. However, a great treasure to was taken from him that night. Legend tells that Zarich had won the Stone of Borna in the battle, and that Almara was forced to continue on his quest without it.”

I was completely entranced now. “What is the Stone of Borna?”

“It is said to be a magical jade stone of great healing power, a treasure in any land. As big as my fist and ten times as heavy, the great green rock can keep the holder youthful far longer than the natural ways of our world allows.”

Kiron couldn’t help himself. “Hogwash.” Chapman glared at him.

“What happened to the rock after Zarich took it?”

“Nobody rightly knows,” Chapman answered, sitting back in his chair and folding his stubby hands over his round belly. “After that battle, both Zarich and the stone disappeared from public view.”

I looked at Kiron. “Well, most of it falls in line with what I know,” he said. “Though the Stone is just a story, nothin’ more than a myth made up by those who wish for magic rather than practice it.” He looked at Chapman condescendingly.