The Moonstone by Nikki Broadwell

Author:Nikki Broadwell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter

“Where will we shelter tonight?”

“There is a city nae far. We should be there by nightfall. The people who live there are called the Crion. They are like us, but smaller, since they have adapted to living in tunnels.”

“Dwarves?”

“Nae, not dwarves.”

“Do they speak English?”

“Some do but they have their own language.”

More strange beings to meet, Finna thought tiredly. She felt depleted both physically and emotionally.

They had left Eron at the spring at midday, heading down the hill toward a valley filled with heather and broom. Different shades of faded purple and mauve interspersed with yellow made a pleasing carpet in front of them. Tiny creeks flowed under the low growing bushes and the murmur followed them as they stepped carefully around hidden rocks and holes. Part of this valley was a peat bog so Catriona had gone ahead, searching for the narrow paths made by animals. Peat could be like quicksand.

Finna had placed the moonstone in her pocket for quick reference and took it out now to look into it. “The stone is pointing in that direction,” she said, gesturing toward the north, where snow covered mountains sent their peaks toward the sky. She didn’t look at her mother as she spoke; there was still a strain between them from the revelations at the spring, a troubling estrangement that she couldn’t completely shake despite the sympathy she now felt. Ominous dark clouds hung above the mountains in the distance, giving a sense of foreboding despite the warm sun and the bucolic scene that stretched before them. It seemed a good place to encounter the Fassnik—Finna looked into the sky, expecting to see it flying out of the gray clouds, flames roaring from its open mouth. She missed the safety of the spring and the comforting presence of Eron.

“Why is it so warm here? It’s wintertime.”

“This entire area is affected by the warm waters of the spring and because of this the heather and broom grow year round. The Crion use if for their dyes. They’re weavers,” she added.

They walked until close to sunset with Finna constantly checking their progress in the stone. The heather and broom had given way to low scrub grass and the streams had long since disapppeared. She was tired and hungry and had twisted her ankle several times on hidden rocks.

When a chime rang out, a bright clear tone like a bell, Finna looked west toward the sound and saw two figures shadowed by the low sun. Catriona hurried toward them with Finna trailing reluctantly behind.

The figures waited beside a round opening in the ground, the entrance to their tunnels. As Catriona and Finna drew closer Finna was struck by their unusual amber colored eyes. There was something fox-like about them with their triangular shaped faces and eyes that slanted up slightly at the corners. They stood around four feet tall, dressed in woven wool tunics in muted tweeds, their feet and legs encased in high sheepskin boots.

Catriona chattered away, ignoring Finna as she followed them down steep dirt stairs.

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