Susan Krinard - The Stone God - 1 by Shield Of The Sky

Author:Shield Of The Sky [Sky, Shield Of The]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-16T23:23:57.619000+00:00

Quintus gestured to Cian. Both had to step over a long metal rod that lay across the threshold.

The main room was filled with worktables, every surface littered with scrolls, papyri and shards of pottery covered with dense writing. A wooden sleeping couch with a woven reed mattress had been shoved into a corner between cupboards and amphorae of all sizes and shapes. Quintus could see a smaller room in the rear of the house, where the back door stood open to catch the sluggish breeze.

But one astounding object dominated the scholarly chaos. Just inside the front door stood a peculiar amalgamation of interconnected metal tubes, boxes and jars, many objects fused together into fantastical shapes, some glowing with mysterious inner light. Cian stared at the device with obvious interest. His nostrils flared as if he smelled an odor he couldn't define.

"My sentinels," Philokrates said, beaming like a king in his palace. "My pneumata are far better guardians than any goose or watchdog. Of course, they have no minds as we know them, but they are naturally antithetic to the Stone and all its works. They become quite agitated in the presence of the enemy." He nodded to Cian. "You do feel them, don't you?"

"Pneumata," Cian said. "Breaths?"

"My own terminology. Your language must have other words… " He ran his hands through his white hair, sending it straight up from his head. "What is your language? You speak koine well."

Cian stepped away from the device. "I learned it from one of your own people, a traveler in the North."

"Ah, the North. Where is your homeland? Do many of you survive? The texts say so little."

"Philokrates," Quintus warned.

The old man swung toward him. "And you, my boy… you had quite a different effect on my pneumata. I have so many questions." He embraced Quintus warmly, tears in his eyes. "It is good to see you. So much has changed."

Everything has changed. Six years ago Quintus had been a child who spent more time in study than with the boys who taunted his deformity. Philokrates, like Quintus's mother and his brothers, had tried to protect him from the harsh realities of life. Surely he would never be able to protect himself.

None of them had foreseen what he would become, or how he alone would be left to avenge them.

Quintus patted Philokrates's shoulder and set the old man behind him. Cian wandered among the tables, studying the writings as if he were capable of reading their spidery scrawls. Quintus wasn't deceived by his casualness. The cool, yellow, beast's eyes were constantly in motion, aware of everything in the room.

"Ancient texts," Cian said. "Are these not written in your own language?"

Philokrates jumped like a little white mouse, and Quintus had to hold him back from rushing to the table.

"They are copies, of course," the old man said. "Translations. The originals are… elsewhere."

"And they tell of my people?"

"They are prophecies and histories passed through many generations of priests and scholars, all the way back to the time of—" He stopped abruptly.

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