The Quest for the Half-Stone: The Chronicles of Leaf, #2

By H A May

The Quest for the Half-Stone: Book Two of The Chronicles of Leaf

 

Here in Leaf, a world which boasts three sources of magic, a prophecy is in full swing.

 

Dragons are extinct, yet Sprout breathes and flourishes – and Jinny Morai is a new Mage. Yet the world is still blighted by a shadowy evil.

To combat this, a potent source of magic is needed, so her ancient amulet needs to be made whole. Perhaps the Talisman may contain magic strong enough to save Leaf, but the lost half will have to be found.

 

Now a hazardous quest is in the offing – but where to look?

• Language: English
• Publisher: H A May
• Release date: Mar 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224956623

Book preview

Dedication

––––––––

For J H M.

Acknowledgements

––––––––

I would like to offer my grateful thanks to these people who have had a huge part in making this book possible:

Michelle Emerson for her time and professional expertise in producing the copies of this book,: Akira of Fiverr for his fab covers and Jon for all his help and patience.

Chapter One

The Farm

––––––––

From the Prophesies of Myrthynne:

‘The stone will be cleft in two and lost, yet it is the gateway. In the time of terror, by the chosen will it be united. With first and last, the power is wielded in deep shadow ...

––––––––

The powder-dry road stretches before us under the searing summer sun. The muffled thuds of hooves and jingles of harness are the only sounds. Even the insects are unnaturally silent as heat rises, lifting the dust of our passage in a choking nimbus around us. Myrtle’s hide is dark with sweat and I am uncomfortably clammy. It was much cooler in the heavy shade of the denser canopy, but we have left that behind us. Now, high above, great branches have been replaced by twigs, and as smaller clusters of leaves sway and part in the wind, more sunshine touches the land. Leading our party are Quaryk and Fellen. After them came my three friends, Galden, Perinal and Alban, chatting and riding together. Drell, another young friend and foundling, rides silently beside me while my dragon, Sprout, and Flutterby, the big horse, bring up the rear behind us. I am tired of this long, hot day and weary. My mouth is full of gritty dust, so I lean to one side to spit.

(Hey! Watch what you’re doing there!) my mare thinks to me as she jinks sideways, jarring me so I have to use my wings to regain balance. (If you can’t sit still, you’d better fly instead.)

‘Better shed than swallowed,’ I reply, quoting one of Ma’s old saws irritably. ‘Anyway, it didn’t land anywhere near you!’

In answer, Myrtle tosses her pretty head. She is inordinately proud of her white coat, now sticky and sullied with a layer of damp dust. Galden, riding just in front, looks back. He can’t hear our mental conversation but is aware that something is going on. He turns to look back at me, raising an amused eyebrow.

‘It’s just Myrtle. She’s fussing,’ I think, bespeaking him.

It is not surprising. We are all looking forward to journey’s end, yet our long ride has meant I’ve had time to mull over the events that brought me to this insane quest, the finding of my odd, broken stone and my dragon’s egg. Why me? I’m nothing special. No one would have ever singled me out to say, ‘There goes one with a strange destiny - and most likely a short future!’

With the weight of the world on my shoulders, I am feeling ridiculously sorry for myself. Myrtle butts in on my musings.

(Won’t do you no good to be worriting about such things,) she bespeaks me, all motherly, like Ma. (Think about getting back to your stable and a good feed. Keeps you going that, and ... hey! Smell it?) She lifts her head, curling back her upper lip.

‘Nope. Can’t smell anything except us.’

(You humans! Can’t never smell nothing! I can smell home!) She pauses for a moment, flicking her ears forwards. (Hey, have you seen Bella? She really hates that woman. Calls her Misery and wants rid of her. Another buck like that and she’ll have her on her arse in the dust!)

She snorts the equine equivalent of a chuckle as she looks around. Bella, a delicate black mare, is bucking and shying, trying to dislodge her objectionable rider, the beautiful and usually nasty Mage, Fellen.

‘What’s wrong, Bella?’ I ask. She is normally a sweetie.

(This horrible creature wears sharp things on her feet and keeps pulling at my mouth.) Bella bucks harder. (I won’t ever carry her again!)

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know: you should have told me,’ I reply as Myrtle edges close enough for me to see fresh blood on Bella’s flanks and mouth. ‘I’ll sort this out, and if you like, you can stay behind at the farm when we go on.’

‘Thank you, Myrtle’s thing,’ Bella answers. She stops bucking and picks up her pace, pulling so hard that Fellen stops jabbing at her bit and has to simply hang on. As senior Mage in our party, the woman outranks Quaryk and me, so it’s hard to protest her niggling cruelties.

A simple but effective plan hatches as I say, ‘Look, there’s the gate.’

At this, Bella breaks into a bouncing run and Myrtle stumbles into a heavy, jogging trot, eyes and ears fixed forward. I almost slither off her back again, regaining balance with my wings. My bad leg is screaming at me, and for the umpteenth time, I wish I had the stamina and stronger wings to cope with a long flight. Or two good legs. But a day’s flying would simply be too much, and it has taken us two to come from the Tree.

‘Hey, slow down. You nearly had me off!’ I say.

She slows until I stop fluttering like a wounded bird. It would be galling to be deposited in the dust in front of Quaryk’s family and the awful Fellen. I’m hoping his family will remember me and Sprout with fondness. I’m hoping they won’t have forgotten us.

Behind us, Sprout is dragging along, almost hidden in his own personal miasma of dust with Flutterby.

‘Hey, you alright?’ I ask. He is much too weary to reply and merely grunts.

At last, Quaryk, with his usual courtesy, holds the old farm gate open for us all. In the distance, figures appear at the kitchen door, waving and rushing towards us as we enter the farmyard. I can’t help grinning at the familiar figures - Quaryk’s mother and father, Milde and Hollis, and his two brothers. Milde calls out to Lind to get down for a hug.

Lind obliges, and with their blonde heads together, mother and daughter hug with such glad expressions that I have to hide my face. True to form, when I try to dismount, my bad leg, agonising after a long day in the saddle, gives way as soon as my foot touches the cobbles. I fall, banging my elbow hard and trapping a wing, and flush with embarrassment. Myrtle looks round and noses me.

‘Are you hurt? Hold on and I’ll lift you.’ She lowers her head for me to hook my arm around her neck, pulling me upright. I glance around. No one seems to have noticed.

‘Thank you, Myrtle,’ I say, bespeaking her gratefully.

‘That’s alright,’ she says. ‘Just don’t forget to look after Bella. Please?’

‘I won’t,’ I say, with heartfelt gratitude, wishing that other people were as caring as my lovely mare.

Once upright, I can only hop and cling to Myrtle. Milde turns and notices my plight.

‘Lind, go get Orm,’ she calls and helps to support me as Lind vanishes inside. A few moments later, Quaryk appears again. It’s strange to hear his use-name, short for Ormandel.

‘Orm? Come and help,’ Milde says. ‘Jinny’s hurt herself.’

Quaryk lifts me easily and carries me through the kitchen into the cool of the stillroom. He deposits me carefully on a chair.

‘There, that’s it,’ he says with the warm smile I fancy he reserves for me. ‘Better in here.’

‘Quaryk!’ Fellen calls from the kitchen, glaring disdainfully at me through the open door.

‘You’re alright now?’ he asks, glancing from her to me.

I nod, cradling my sore elbow.

‘Yes, thank you.’

Obediently, he joins the senior Mage, who is talking with his father and brothers. The latter are staring and almost drooling.

Milde appears and hands me a cup, frowning at the effect Fellen is having on her two sillier sons. I sip the cool, delicious juice, clearing the dust from my mouth and throat. Milde catches me wincing as, involuntarily, I move my twisted leg.

‘It’s bad again then, Jinny? And you’ve hurt your elbow?’

‘Yes. Really bad today. Too much riding - too far and too fast.’

I gasp as a bolt of pain runs up and down the offending limb. Milde turns to take down a small pot from the big dresser where she stores her home-made remedies. Above us, summer herbs hang from low hooks, sweetening the air. I lift my skirts and, dipping into the pot, she begins to rub the contents onto my leg.

‘You’d do better with men’s pants for riding,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘They would be warmer and less of a nuisance. I’ll look you out a few pairs of the outgrown ones.’

Then she looks at my arm.

‘Just a bruise,’ she says. ‘I’ll put this on there too. You remember this? It will help with the pain for a while. You’ve been trying to keep up with them all again, haven’t you?’ She gives me a sweet smile. ‘I’ve been waiting for you these two hours since and I’m very glad to see you again.’

With that, she clasps me to her in a comforting embrace that brings tears to my eyes. I’ve missed her.

‘Well, Thank Tree you’re here now,’ she says, hugging me closer, ‘and safe.’

With that, she lets me go, and I smile at her gratefully. She is so like Ma. Not in appearance - Tree knows Milde is tall and slim - but in the motherly warmth and tenderness she gives to all. Now I find the courage to ask a favour.

‘Could I, um - is there a scarf I could borrow - for the journey?’

‘For the rest of the journey? But it’s still very warm, isn’t it?’ And then, as she focuses on the self-imposed bruises on my neck I always try to hide, she says, ‘Ah, I see. You’re still having nightmares?’

My mouth twists as I remember the last one, another dream-sending from the Necromancer.

‘I am,’ I reply.

‘In that case, I’ll find a nice light one and leave it out for you.’

With that, she gives me a warm look, but as she turns, my conscience gets the better of me. I have ignored Sprout!

‘Where’s ...?’ I ask shyly.

‘Sprout’s fine,’ she says. ‘Yon big lad’s eating his head off already. Galden has seen to him and the horses. The moment that man got back to his own stable, he took over, just like that!’

She clicks her fingers with a grin. Then her face and tone become serious.

‘Please ask Sprout to be very careful. This hot weather has made everything tinder-dry and one little spark from him—’

‘...could set everything ablaze!’ I finish for her. ‘Of course I’ll ask him. Thank you, Milde.’

Leaving me alone to rest for a while, she goes into the kitchen. Alone, I touch Sprout’s mind. He is almost asleep in his favourite corner of the big barn. It seems a pity to rouse him, but needs must.

‘Sprout?’ I bespeak him gently. ‘Sproutie? Milde has asked if you will be very careful. One flame and the whole barn could go up.’

I feel him wake up just enough to consider my request.

he says, bespeaking me, and then sinks down into sleep again with a soft internal sigh.

~*~

In the quiet, cool shadows of the stillroom, I glance through the wide arch into the kitchen. The moaning voice in my head has quieted for once, and the birds and bloons outside the open window are calling. In the big kitchen, Quaryk is staring through the door, cup in hand. Fellen, standing next to him, is posing and gesticulating while his brothers stare and hang on her every word as Milde and Lind glare. I suddenly doubt we’ll stay here long. Milde will want rid of Fellen because of the effect on her sillier sons as, unlike Quaryk, they are not used to meeting strangers. Certainly no one as gorgeous as Fellen.

I wish this woman, whom the Order of Mages thrust upon us, was miles away. I suppose she may be helpful in amplifying any magic we may use, but she is utterly unpleasant. She looks fresh and clean, her hair and skin lustrous, and her manner vivacious, so much so that I suspect she must be using magic to keep such a perfect appearance after our long, hot ride. I look down at my filthy self. I look and feel like a used rag, but cleanliness will have to wait until I have rested my bad leg ...

~*~

Lind wakes me with a gentle shake.

‘Jinny? We’re ready to eat now. Come on.’

She gives me a hand up, and with her help, I make it into the kitchen, where Milde is ladling a savoury mess into bowls. It smells wonderful and my stomach growls in anticipation. I take my usual seat, the same one I vacated last spring, with the feeling that I have come home. Although I visited my foster parents in the Holtanbore after the earthquake, the smothering darkness felt unfamiliar. No, I am glad to feel the sun and see moonlight.

The good stew is mopped up with chunks of fresh bread, and it goes quiet as we eat. When I eventually look up, Fellen is staring disgustedly down at her bowl. She wrinkles her perfect nose, and as she picks at her bread instead, Lind elbows me.

‘What’s up with her? Who does she think she is?’

Her whisper is too loud.

‘Quiet! We have to live with her, remember? Ignore her.’

‘Hmph! She’s not making any friends here,’ Lind replies, angry at our spoiled homecoming. I follow her eyes: apart from her brothers, everyone is frowning at the Mage and the atmosphere is chilly.

When the meal is over, Hollis takes Fellen into the sitting room to ‘allow her to rest’, and the atmosphere suddenly lightens. I stumble over to help Milde and Lind wash the pots, tidy the kitchen, and hear the latest news: a calf born here, a foal there, and a clutch of new babies. When all is done, I grab a walking stick and take my leave to find Sprout and Myrtle.

My mare is flat out on a thick bed of straw, emitting contented equine snores and taking up one whole end of the barn. Sprout and Flutterby look equally comfortable together. I see my dragon is dozing with one eye cracked open in case he misses something.

I bespeak him, ‘Hello you?’

He opens his inner lids as I collapse against his hot, mailed flank.

my dragon mutters sleepily.

My big, strong dragon, I think wryly. He can literally burn an earth-tree to bits in a handful of seconds, but he tries not to do anything like that, though, saying it would be a terrible waste of fodder.

‘That’s exactly how I feel,’ I say. ‘My leg feels like a sore lump of wood. Milde’s ointment only takes the pain away for a little while. I don’t know if I’ll manage.’

Sprout snorts hot breath onto my leg. Then, curling his long neck, rests his long head next to it. He knows exactly how I feel: the mental bond beginning at his birth has only strengthened with time.

he grunts and closes his eye firmly. I yawn, sagging into a comfortable heap in the deep straw, listening to the beg and babble of the strange voice which fills my mind whenever I am at ease and quiet. And I agree with him – absolutely ...

~*~

‘Hey Jinny! Wake up!’

Someone is laughing, shaking my shoulder so my head rolls from side to side. Something sharp tickles my nostril, making me jerk. I rub at it frantically. Another laugh from someone else. I open an eye. All I see is a pale gold blur edged in thin golden light.

So. Morning. Early.

When I try to sit up, an avalanche of dusty, prickly gold threatens to overwhelm me. It slips and covers my face, so I splutter and flail. A hand grabs mine and yanks me up and out of the mess. He laughs again as he plonks me onto my feet.

‘Wha ...? How long ...?’

‘Yup, you’ve been here all night,’ Quaryk says, grinning. Why grin, I wonder? And then I redden. A hand flies to my hair, which is full of broken straw.

‘You’ll want to clean up before breakfast,’ says Galden, with a snort, out of sight.

Ashamed, I drop my eyes: they’re laughing at me.

Bits of straw stick in my clothes, and my hair tumbles messily in a tangled, gold-spangled dark cloud. Another hand begins to pick bits out of it, and I turn to find Lind with a look of concentration on her face.

‘Keep still, Jin. We thought you’d be out all day,’ she says. ‘I was worried when I woke up and you weren’t there! You ought to take more care of yourself.’

I am suddenly angry. What right have they to tell me what to do? But although something prevents my sharp retort, my bad temper touches Sprout, who is suddenly here.

An undertone beneath his words - apparently, his ‘other’ stomach has appeared to defend me. If I don’t say something fast, he might start a fire that won’t be quenched in this weather.

‘Everything is fine,’ I bespeak him. ‘Nothing wrong, really! Just a bit irritated, that’s all. What are you doing?’

With a wave of relief, I feel him calm down, and his ghostly ‘other’ stomach fades away.‘Just having breakfast with Big F,’ he says, and this time, his inner voice is muted with his pleasure in eating. Now he knows I’m alright, he signs off. I must learn to control my emotions, I think, as Lind pulls hard at a defiant straw.

‘Ow, that hurts!’

‘Sorry,’ she says with a chuckle. ‘That’ll do. Come on in. Ma says we can share a tub later.’

The prospect of breakfast and a hot bath is enough to dispel any lingering annoyance. Because my leg is still painful, I make a grab for her arm.

‘You’ll be glad to know I’ve decided we’re not going on until tomorrow,’ Quaryk says, watching us. ‘We are all tired, and it will be better to begin this quest well-rested.’

That word again ...

Fellen has insisted on calling our misadventure a ‘quest’, and it seems to have stuck. If I had two good legs, I wouldn’t hesitate to kick her for that alone.

‘Good,’ I say, somewhat relieved. I really need a day’s rest.

We have covered the route from the Tree to the farm in half the time it normally takes. The Order of Mages and the Twin Sky-kings themselves insist that speed is of the essence in finding the second half of the magic stone I wear. If I can find it and somehow re-attach the two, it may again become the Talisman, an ancient amulet with hopefully enough power to stop the Necromancer’s destruction. The burden of this search is mine because I am the only person who can touch it without harm.

I finger my half-stone beneath my clothes, noting its smugness. It projects its carved image of a tree cradling star, filling my mind, and I wonder what this means. But enough, I tell it. This is a fool’s errand with next to no hope of finding the other half. Just another way for me - for us all - to fail and die in a distant place.

However, instantly, an unexpected happy feeling washes through me: everything is as it should be. So I will eat, take that long, hot bath, and put away my anxieties until tomorrow.

‘Come on then, give me a hand,’ I say, watching Quaryk’s face and feeling his conflicting emotions behind it and the thought: is there any point in trying to take a lame, ill-educated girl to find a mythical stone that may not exist? Underlying this is his need to obey the Order of Mages and, beneath that, something else - a deeper desire I dare not explore.

As we walk, Sprout breaks into my thoughts with his usual advice.

’t fuss,> he says. <You’re just hungry. You’ll feel much better when you have a full stomach!>

Food! His ultimate panacea. I feel him belch complacently where he lies and decide he’s probably right. I can hear his stomach bubbling and churning as it takes a vast amount of greens for my odd, vegetarian dragon to be satisfied, and it also makes a lot of gas. Mine is joining in too.

The morning is chilly, and I’m glad to be moving, although my leg is still stiff and sore. When we enter the big kitchen, Milde looks around the scullery door with a startled expression and says,

‘Lind tells me you’ve slept in the stable all night! Trees save us; you must be frozen!’

Hardly, I think. No point in saying that Sprout is like a giant hot water bottle, but she continues,

‘You’ll be wanting breakfast then?’

I nod hungrily and she points her soapy hand at the big pot on the fire. Lind ladles some of the contents into a bowl for me and leaves. The porridge is hot, laced with dried fruits and nuts, and even better with summer’s honey spooned over it.

As I finish eating, Lind comes in. Beckoning, she says, ‘Finished? Our bath is ready. Come on.’

I follow her as enthusiastically as my leg allows. The big tub is in the dairy, the windows and doors draped with sheets for modesty’s sake, and by the Tree! It is already full and steaming! Once undressed, I sink into the hot water with a deep sigh of contentment. The ache falls away from my leg, soothed for the moment, but I’m not allowed to wallow too long. Lind strips quickly and joins me.

‘C’mon, sit up a bit,’ she says, admiring my wings draped over the edge of the tub. With a comb, she begins to tug at my curls to relieve them of the stubborn bits of remaining straw.

Chapter Two

Maps and Journal

––––––––

The twin hearths paint the whole kitchen deep red, and in the chill of the evening, the low heat is comfortable. The warm days of summer are about to edge into autumn, with colder nights and frosty mornings, and then both hearths will be fed to a blaze.

Sprout is off somewhere enjoying the evening with the heavy horse, Flutterby.

‘You alright?’ I ask him. ‘You could come look at the map with me if you want to?’

He doesn’t answer as he is racing Flutterby to the river where, no doubt, they will upset the local fish and sleepy waterfowl. I leave him to his fun as tomorrow we set off again, and this short rest will do him good.

‘This is the best map we’ve had so far,’ Quaryk tells Hollis, his father, as he pores over the big piece of parchment. ‘Can you add anything to it? There’s a big chunk of nothing out to the east.’

‘Nay, I’ve never been one step outside the Glebe,’ Hollis says, peering down at it with a shrug, ‘and I don’t know anyone who has apart from you, lad.’ He smiles at his son proudly. ‘But we hear tales from time to time from the Girdle, and there are old stories of folk that stopped long before they arrived here. Remember that First-Comer’s tale? It may be that folk we don’t know still survive out there, eh?’

‘Stories?’

‘Daft rumours about great beasts travelling huge distances and the things that follow them and take their young uns. And odd people! And it’s said you can ride for days across a great sea of grass before you see a tree. Imagine that!’

‘No other maps you know of?’

Hollis looks puzzled, concentrates for a few seconds, and then his face lights up in a vast grin. He looks at Milde, who nods assent.

‘There’s a big chest in the attic full of old leaves and scrolls, but it hasn’t been opened for more years than I remember. I doubt it, but there might be something of use there.’

I glance at Fellen. Instead of taking an interest in