The cave entrance was before him, the salt-spray of the sea stinging his cheeks. In his hand, the sword seemed very heavy, heavier than it had ever seemed on this long journey.

“But me? I don’t want to be king. I wouldn’t know how.”

“Then that proves you’re right for it,” she told him. “So all the old stories say.”

Ria’s remembered words did not comfort him. They had come far, very far, in more ways than one. If he failed, the darkness would continue. If he won, he would be miserable, caught with a burden he had never dreamed of having, even during his wildest play-acting fantasies.

He paused, his free hand resting on the cold, wet rock. The sky over the sea was appropriately gray and roiling. There were no birds to cry, only the steady beat of the waves.

In Hallows, the young people had played at being heroes, make-believe. But their play never involved the redstone. It was something they didn’t dare touch. Their imaginings included nothing more grand than slaying rampaging bog-dragons or vicious sleets. To imagine grander was too dangerous in their world. To step too far outside the safety of the enclaves meant slavery or death.

It had been so, not always, but for the past 1080 moon cycles. The lifetime of an elder. There were no elders left in Hallows enclave who remembered a light ruler. There was a very old woman who lived in Ria’s enclave who did.

Of course, Singe remembered, Singe with his big cloak and his windburned face and his riddles, who was not normal and was of indeterminate age. It was all Singe’s fault, uttering prophecies and dire predictions if they were not followed. “You are the chosen one,” Singe had told Taph.

Taph had not believed it, not for a heartbeat, but had been swept away when the sleets overran Hallows and Singe insisted they were after Taph because they knew. Because the dark ruler knew, and wanted to kill Taph.

He had to admit, there had been some sense in Singe’s words. The sleets did seem to be intent on killing Taph for some reason. Surely, though, it had nothing to do with the dark ruler. Taph wasn’t the chosen one, he couldn’t be. The chosen one had to be strong, quick, noble. All those qualities, and more, to enter the cave, remove the redstone, and place it back in its niche again.

The trouble wasn’t with the redstone, or stopping the current dark ruler. It was what would happen to him afterwards. If he lost…not only would the darkness continue for S’anna’s knew how much longer, the dark ruler would probably either throw him into one of the mines for a life of eternal slavery or kill him. If he won…well, then Taph would have to be the light ruler.

Better the light ruler than dead, he told himself. Better you be the light ruler than everything stay under the control of a dark ruler.

This was always how it had been done. Two did battle, and the one who placed the stone back in its berth became the ruler.

“But it isn’t so simple,” Singe explained. “If the light ruler wins, they have a big job to do. They have to undo what the dark ruler brought about. They have to repair the damage. Then they have to make sure things continue being good. In all, much easier to be the dark ruler.”

“Why don’t you just quote me another rhyming prophecy, and be done with it?” He answered bitterly. “That was far too clear to come from you. I actually understood that.”

Singe shook his head. “There aren’t prophecies for that, foolish boy. It just is. It’s practical fact.”

At least he still had Ria. He had known her for a long time; children from Hallows and from Riverlight mingled on trading days. As they had grown, they’d kept in touch with messages the trained pigeons carried between enclaves. Sheer accident, or maybe Singe’s doing, had dragged her into Taph’s mess.

He was glad now, that it had. He smiled and touched his lips, remembering her good luck kiss.

Would Ria still want him when he was light ruler? A tiny part of him thought he might be better off with the dark ruler still in place. Would he and Ria be any less happy? Somewhere after their last rest stop in Green enclave, they’d made plans. It wouldn’t be a bad life, for them. Of course, if they ever had children, it would be harder. The sleets and bog-dragons stole children sometimes, to deliver to the dark ruler for slave labor. They sometimes stole adults, too.

Take the stone, make sure his hand was the one that put it back, and all would be well. There was only one chance at this. No cheating, once it was taken out, the results were decisive from that battle. If the chosen one failed, everyone had to wait for another to take their place. Chosen ones did not come along very often, sometimes not even once a generation, although some told of a time when the world changed hands every hundred moon cycles or so. A man might have an infant son raised safely to seventy-two moon cycles, at which point he was kidnapped to become a slave to the new dark ruler, and by young adulthood the boy might be free again. If another chosen one came along, there was no guarantee he or she would win. That was why for 1080 endless moon cycles there had been a dark ruler.

Taph shook his head. Really, there was no choice. He transferred the grip of the sword to his other hand, wiped the palm of his other hand on his tunic to dry it, and transferred the sword back. He took a deep breath, and entered the cave.

Yellow and red torchlight flickered at the back in holders attached to the wall. The flames sent long shadows forward to grasp him with their tendrils. Someone was already there, waiting.

“Hello, Taph,” said the dark ruler, smiling with a detached mockery. “I’ve been expecting you.”

It had always been so. Seize the redstone, put it back, save the world. For generation upon generation. Thousands upon thousands of moon cycles spent ruled in misery and deprivation, huddled together in enclaves to survive, staying in enclaves even during the good times because at any moment another dark chosen one might come and doom them to despair again.

“Hello, Raaken,” said Taph.

“I am a busy man.” He swept his arm about the cave, his blue wool cloak lifting slighting with his shoulder as he did so. The gold brooch he wore at his throat seemed to be on fire as it caught the torchlight. “All this, this is just a formality. You know that.”

1080 moon cycles. A human lifetime. Longer than a lifetime, for most.

“I’m claiming the stone,” Taph said, wondering if his voice shook as much as he thought it did. S’anna’s Wings, he’s tall.

Raaken laughed. “Yes, I suppose you think you will. My father explained the process to me. You have to try. But you won’t win. Your kind never does. Look at you. Who could possibly think you would make a better leader than I? How old are you?”

“192 moon cycles,” Taph said, feeling the moisture creep into his sword-palm again.

“So young. Well, I’m about 500. By the time I was your age, my father had already given me my own sectors to run. I am a nobleman’s son, after all. Tell me,” Raaken said, touching a gloved finger to his bearded chin. “What experience have you had running a country?”

“Be quiet,” Taph said, a bit desperately. “You’re only stalling. Maybe you’re afraid I’ll win.”

“Certainly. Of course. I’m sure that’s it.”

“Step aside.”

“Sorry, no.”

Taph moved towards the dark ruler. Raaken drew his sword.

Singe had taught him sword-play; among his many talents, Singe had once been a famous warrior. Famous among what circles, Singe had been vague about, but he had known some impressive sword moves.

Grasping his sword in both hands, with all his strength, Taph feinted, then swung low. Raaken was able to block the blow at the last possible second.

“Not bad,” Raaken said, showing his mocking smile again. “I doubt you’ll get another one past me.”

There was no cheating, not when it came to the redstone. But in the battle, all kinds of techniques were allowed. Taph let go of his sword with one hand. His fingers went to a small pouch tucked into his belt. With a sudden twitch of his wrist, he tossed the powder into Raaken’s face.

The tall, broad-shouldered man staggered back, gloved fingers rubbing at his eyes. Taph took his chance. He jumped forward, past Raaken, and reached for the stone.

Just as his fingers brushed it, Raaken struck him hard in the back with the flat of his sword. Taph cried out and fell to his knees, fingers grasping the rock wall of the cave.

“Again, not bad. So even a chosen one of the light will resort to sneaky tactics.” Raaken leveled his sword towards Taph’s chest.

Taph thrust up his sword, but not towards Raaken’s. The tip of the blade caught the stone, prying it from its niche. He caught it in mid-air, ducked his head, and rolled, coming up many steps away from Raaken.

The stone was heavy in his hand, perfectly round, almost too big for his palm. It shone softly in the torchlight, a clear, burnished glow, purer than any gem. Its power throbbed in his hand like a beating heart.

“No reign has ever changed except by means of the redstone,” Singe told him. “They are linked.” The weathered man lifted the green sprig of hollowberry between his thumb and forefinger, turning it upside down to reveal the bright crimson berries underneath. “As if the stone was an extension of their own body. It not only gives them control over the bog-dragons and other such creatures, making assassination near impossible, it makes the ruler stronger and wiser.”

“If I succeed, and the stone works its magic on me…will I still be me?”

“Nothing could ever stop you being you.” Ria, seated near them on the grassy bank of the stream, nudged closer to him. “It would take more than a stone to hide Taph.”

Taph faced the dark ruler in the cave and wanted less and less to become ruler himself.

“You got the stone out,” Raaken said, sounding quite surprised now. “I didn’t think you’d get that far. However, you have your tricks, I have mine.” He let out a piercing whistle from the corner of his mouth.

The patter of claws on stone sounded in the darkness. Many claws. Into the light appeared a long, thin, elegant, green-scaled head. Then another, and another, their scarlet markings like blood. Six bog-dragons.

“Destroy him,” Raaken ordered. “And bring me the stone unscratched.”

“Yesssss, massssssssster,” one of the bog-dragons flicked its tongue out and turned its emerald eyes on Taph.

He ran for the entrance to the cave, but with an elongated, powerful, graceful leap, a bog-dragon blocked his path. It landed like a cat, its tail twitching back into place. They surrounded him, and when he took a step back, he could feel the hot breath of one on his neck.

“I would tell you you’ve lost,” Raaken said, standing just outside the circle of dragons and smiling, no trace of mockery now, just honest triumph. “But that would be stating the obvious, wouldn’t it? Move towards the stone’s niche, try to run, move one inch, and they will cut you open, spilling your blood all over the cave floor. The stain will make an interesting reminder to the next chosen one of the light.”

Sword raised, breath coming fast, Taph clutched the stone. I’ve lost. I’ve lost. I’ve lost.

“Or perhaps your blood will remind the next dark chosen one,” a clear voice called out from the entrance. There was a thwap and an object hurtled through the air, striking a bog-dragon in the shoulder. The creature screamed like a boiling kettle. More objects rained through the air, striking the dragons. It was hard to kill a bog-dragon; certainly stone sling-arrows couldn’t do it. But it distracted them. They broke formation, screaming, twisting in confusion as they looked for the source of the stings.

They found it.

“Ria!” Taph screamed. “Get out of here! Now!”

“Get to the niche!” She yelled, and then turned and leapt, braid flying out behind her as she fled the cave.

The dragons started to pursue her. Taph ran his sword into the flank of the nearest one. Blood flowed hot over his arm and the thing thudded to the cave floor.

“No!” Raaken commanded. “Not the girl. Stop the boy. One. Go after the girl. Bring her here, do not kill her. Not yet.”

Immediately, obediently, the remaining five dragons turned. One paused to sniff at its fallen companion, which grunted faintly but did not get up. Another galloped from the cave after Ria.

Taph turned his head desperately towards the cave entrance, then back to Raaken. He heard an outraged scream from outside and Ria cursing.

The dragon returned, dragging Ria by the scruff of her tunic as a cat carries a kitten. She was kicking at the dragon’s scales furiously, but with no effect. Her boots could not touch the floor.

“No,” Taph said. “Not her. Let her go.”

“Taph, your arm!” Ria cried out.

“It’s dragon’s blood,” he said quickly, his eyes never leaving Raaken.

“Give me the stone,” said the dark ruler, “and I won’t kill her.”

“Taph, don’t you dare!” Ria held out her hands to him, ceasing her struggles for the moment. “You know my brother is a slave. If you give him that stone I will hate you forever.”

Horrified, Taph saw tears wet on Ria’s face. She had never cried in his presence before. Never. She hung limply from the dragons grasp, and wept.

Again, the plans they had made crept into his mind. Who cared who ruled? They’d survive, no matter what.

Her brother’s a slave.

I will hate you forever.

“Choose, Taph.”

Helpless. He felt paralyzed. For the thousandth time, he regretted being the chosen one, regretted meeting Singe, regretted the whole stinking, long, impossible journey to the cave. Windrill’s death. She was just a horse, they didn’t have to kill her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat. That was long over.

“Taph…” Ria whispered. The dragon’s arm came up, long claws reaching for her throat.

Who cares who rules?

Back and forth. Even if I win, someday a dark chosen one will come to challenge me. It will start all over again.

“Choose!” Raaken shouted.

“I can’t,” Taph said quietly.

He knelt, set the stone on the cave floor. Raising his sword in both hands, he brought the pommel straight down on the stone as hard as he could.

There was a red flash brighter than the direct blaze of the sun, brighter than fire, brighter than anything. He lost everything for a moment or two.

When things came back, he was lying with his cheek against the rough stone of the cave floor. His vision blurred, focused, and found the red shards, like a broken glass ball, within his reach.

“I broke it?” he said, his voice hoarse and weak, as if he’d been sick for a long time. “I broke it,” he said dully.

“Kill her,” Raaken screamed, as if he’d been screaming it more than once. “Kill her and kill him. Now! I am the dark ruler!”

The dragons just blinked at him, dumb beasts once more. The one holding Ria opened its mouth and deposited her on the ground. The girl immediately crawled over to Taph, who pushed himself up and grabbed her in a consuming embrace.

Then the dragons shuffled out of the cave.

“We’re lucky they weren’t hungry,” Ria said, sniffing hard.

“What have you done?” Raaken’s face was blank and pale with shock, all fire, all pride, drained out of it. He came over to them. Taph and Ria shrank away, but Raaken only toed the red shards with the tip of his boot. He put his hand to his face.

“See, it doesn’t matter who rules, so long as it’s someone who will do good for the land,” Taph explained. “I’d make a lousy ruler. But in the enclaves, we…we’ll find someone better. Someone better at ruling. It…it shouldn’t be decided by a magic stone.”

“You…” Raaken lowered his hand and looked at the boy with fear in his eyes, almost awe. “But since the dawn of time, this is how it has been.”

Taph shrugged. “Well, now it can be another way for a while. Now the bog-dragons and the sleets are just animals again. Dangerous, but no more than wolves. And the elven…”

“The elven serve as it pleases them,” Raaken said tiredly. “Pay them enough and they’ll forget there ever was a redstone. They only play along with the lore so they can reap the benefits of being on the winning side. Mercenaries.” He spat. “I hope I never see you again.” He moved past them with a glance directed at Taph that had little of hate and much of fear and disgust, and exited the cave. He was gone.

Ria helped Taph to his feet. Leaning on each other, they started for the entrance and the fresh smell of the sea just outside. The dragon’s blood, starting to dry, was crusted and heavy on his arm. It felt sordid. “Wait,” said Taph.

He turned back and gathered the shards up in his hand. Then he followed Ria outside.

They stood on the rock as the waves broke whitely far below them, the sea hissing and banging to itself. Taph held out his hand and let the wind take the shards and carry them away like so much dust. They swirled against the colorless sky, a splash of scarlet, and were gone.

Together, they turned and left the cliffs, walking along the rough path towards the woods.

“What now?” Ria asked, as the trees closed around them.

“We tell them,” Taph said. “We tell them to find a leader, someone they can trust. Someone good.”

“Hm.” Ria hooked her arm through his. “I wonder how difficult that will be.”

END

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The Redstone

© 2000 Constance Cochran

Artwork by Laura Ackerman