Stained Glass Monsters Read online

  Stained Glass Monsters

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Stained Glass

  Monsters

  Andrea K Höst

  Stained Glass Monsters

  © 2011 Andrea K Höst. All rights reserved.

  www.andreakhost.com

  Cover art by: Julie Dillon

  ISBN: 978-0-9808789-7-4

  Published by Andrea K Hösth at Smashwords

  World Map can be found at:

  www.andreakhost.com/p/etc

  All characters in this publication

  are fictitious and any resemblance

  to real persons, living or dead,

  is purely coincidental.

  Description

  When a motionless woman dressed in white appears in the village of Falk, Kendall Stockton has no inkling that the strange apparition will soon leave her homeless, and tangled in the affairs of mages and monsters. For the white figure is the first sign of a spell which will shatter cities, and make the caster as powerful as the gods.

  Saved by a stranger who claims her goal is to stop the woman, Kendall is torn between admiring the mage Rennyn Claire's strength, and doubting her methods. What is Rennyn willing to do to win? Do the best of intentions justify pragmatic sacrifice, or is Rennyn Claire no better than the monster she is trying to stop?

  Chapter One

  ShhooTHuMP!

  The whole of the small shed which was Kendall Stockton's home shuddered, sending specks of grit pattering into her cropped blonde curls and sliding down the newssheet she held. The strange sound was gone as soon as she'd registered it, leaving all the geese and ducks and chickens which roamed the Back Green squawking their heads off.

  Not able to guess what was happening, Kendall dashed outside. Nothing odd in the garden or around the blackened remains of Gran's house, so she ran round the other side of her shed, and stopped to stare. There was someone lying in the middle of the Green.

  It was still well before evening, and the Green fell inside the village's circle, so Kendall felt safe taking a few halting steps closer. Lying there unmoving was a woman in a white dress, her arms stretched to either side, and her long pale hair fanned out around her.

  "Are – are you hurt?"

  There was no reply, only the retreating protest of fowl, and a shout from the Lippon house. Kendall hadn't been the only one in Falk to hear and feel...whatever had happened. Wanting to see more before the entire Lippon clan arrived, Kendall crossed to within a few feet of the strange figure.

  The woman didn't move at all, just lay there in the grass. She was beautiful. Her long hair curled from a wide forehead, around her pointed face and all the way out to the very tips of her fingers. That hair wasn't much darker than her dress, and her skin was whiter than seemed possible. Though her eyes were shut, and Kendall could see no sign of movement, the woman didn't look dead. Her chin was up, and her head didn't sag to either side. Even her feet were neatly together.

  "It's a lady!" The first of the Lippons had arrived. Fearless Jessamy, skidding to a halt just beside Kendall. "Ever so fine!"

  True. The long, white dress shimmered in the sunlight, and the stitching was better than any fancywork Kendall had ever seen. Unlike Kendall, Jessamy didn't shy off taking the last few steps to the woman's side, but gasped and fell back, sitting down in a heap.

  "What happened, Jessa?" asked Harry, the oldest of the Lippon boys, panting up at the head of the second wave of tow-headed Lippons.

  "The – the air got heavy," Jessamy replied, sounding confused but not hurt.

  "Heavy? What do you mean?" Harry moved beside his sister, and held forward a cautious hand. This didn't make him fall over, but Kendall saw sudden surprise on his face, and his hand trembled.

  All the younger Lippons were crowding up now, fanning out in a circle behind Jessamy, while others from the village were appearing at the edges of the Green. Miller Best had brought his new musket, but lowered it after seeing the woman.

  "Isn't she pretty?"

  "Look at that dress!"

  "Is she dead?"

  "Where–?"

  "How–?"

  "Who–?"

  As the crowd and the questions grew, Kendall edged around to one side, and held her hand toward the woman until she felt it go strange and heavy. It was possible to keep it there, but it was like holding a full bucket out at arm's-length. No wonder Jessamy had fallen, running right into this. Kendall's nose itched, and she backed away.

  Then Mayor Dorstan arrived from the bakery, his arms still streaked with flour, though he'd left his apron behind.

  "Stand back, the lot of you," he ordered impatiently. "Give the woman some air." He started to kneel beside the stranger, then grunted with sudden effort. The mayor was a big man, all muscle except in the gut, and they could see the struggle it was for him not to fall. But Mayor Dorstan was stubborn, too, and he continued slowly down on one knee and reached out to touch the woman's hand.

  "My Lady?" he said. "Can you hear me?"

  No response.

  "She's warm." His fingers circled her wrist as if to lift it, but the only thing that happened was the muscles in his arms and shoulders stood out, and his face went slowly purple.

  "What in Fel's name is this?" Mayor Dorstan muttered, then gave up and pushed himself to his feet, staggering away. Sweat dripped from his face, and he took quite a time to get his breath. The woman just lay there while more and more villagers gathered, and stared, and wondered.

  "Did anyone see her arrive?" Mayor Dorstan asked finally, still huffing a little.

  "No-one's come in since Cooper Robbins," said Kalan Huxtal. "I would have seen aught else. Sure as shine would have seen this'un."

  "If you'd been using your eyes, maybe," Mayor Dorstan growled, glaring about him. He didn't like magic, wasn't even glad when the Circle-Turners arrived to make their rounds, and hated more anything that didn't make sense. "Someone must have seen her."

  It was hard to imagine any lady, dressed beacon-white and with all that hair, getting even a step into Falk without half the village spotting her. But no-one had. She was just there, unmoving, and immovable.

  -oOo-

  A morning in the sitting room had sent Rennyn Claire's eyes blurry. She'd been conscientiously transcribing one of the older books into neater, less faded script, adding commentary as she went. Surely she could allow herself an afternoon's work on the much-neglected garden until the world became less fogged.

  She was passing by the Map Room when a muted THuNK froze her in place. Not quite believing, Rennyn stared through the doorway at the model of Tyrland. For the whole of her twenty-five years, and long before, a black spindle had been suspended above the map, swaying at the end of a single hair fixed to the ceiling. Now it was buried an inch deep in a flat patch near the city of Sark.

  The Verisian clock's ticking caught her attention, as if it had deliberately grown loude
r to remind her that time was marching on.

  "So." Rennyn couldn't think of anything less feeble to say, and went upstairs to pack. Sark was a day, a day and a half's ride away. Cuddy wouldn't appreciate the pace, and would make her regret not keeping the bay properly exercised, but it was better to ride than attract attention travelling more quickly.

  "Ren! Ren!" Her brother came tearing up the stairs, only to notice her travelling gear. "Oh, you've seen."

  She nodded, keeping herself cool for his sake. Sebastian was just sixteen, and most-ways sensible, but he fretted. "Can you start on the calculations while I'm gone, Seb?"

  He tugged at his hair impatiently, eyes bright in his thin, clever face. "Yes. Yes, of course. You will – I'll have them done before you get back. Three days, right?"

  "Thereabouts. Perhaps a little more, depending on what I find."

  "Ren." He was thinking ahead now, concern edging through the excitement.

  "This is the easy part, Seb," she said, touching his arm.

  "Just – remember Great Grandfather."

  That made her smile. "As if either of us ever forget."

  After rechecking the location on the map, she paused in the hall and carefully tugged a comb through her hair, handing it to Seb when she was done. Turning her attention to arranging her hat, she frowned at the sight she presented. Cold determination had set her features into lines she barely recognised.

  With some effort, she wiped any trace of her thoughts from her face, became the picture of a young countrywoman out for an afternoon's ride. All their lives, she and Seb had been preparing for that spindle to drop. She refused to falter at the first hurdle.

  Chapter Two

  The village was called Falk, and lay just south of one of Tyrland's major cities, Sark. Rennyn was fairly certain Cuddy would never forgive her for riding till the very edge of night, then rising so early the next morning, but there was a time limit to what she had to do, and she needed to do it without being observed.

  Somehow. Falk swarmed, as overrun as a harvest fair, and Rennyn shook her head at the mass of people buying, selling and gawping. It had been little more than a day: how had they assembled so quickly?

  Attention was centred around a grassy area behind the main body of houses. It had been roped off, and was barely visible through the stalls and crowds lined up to pay for entry. This was not how Rennyn had pictured this day, but she decided that it was after all an advantage. Among so many, she was wholly unremarkable. It should be possible to hide her actions in plain sight.

  Paying a coin, she left Cuddy to be watered and rubbed down while she waited in line. It was hot, a little past midday, and the press of folk made it seem hotter still. Rennyn adjusted her hat and gazed about at all the people come to see something strange and intriguing. Children who chattered or squabbled. Merchants bargaining over vegetables. Young couples, standing close together. A hired guard carefully cleaning his musket. She felt like she was on the other side of a pane of glass, as if she were in the world beside this one, and none of these people could see her.

  Sternly, Rennyn forced herself to smile and look excited. Remember Great Grandfather, Seb had said. Remember the threat of violent death.

  The people of Falk were charging a petthine to view their newly acquired curiosity, controlling the influx by only allowing groups of ten through at a time. Rennyn might have been annoyed by their greed if she did not have a reasonable idea of what the area would look like in a week's time. They would need more money than this soon enough, so she paid over her petthine ungrudgingly, and gazed across a sward of daisy-studded grass to the centre of her existence.

  "So lovely," murmured one of the women in the new group of sightseers.

  It was true. The figure on the ground was much younger than Rennyn had pictured, but a semblance of youth was common where mages and magic were concerned. The face reminded her faintly of a cat, with those very curved lips and large, wide-set eyes. A white cat, sleek and pleased with itself, somehow imperious lying in that fan of carefully arranged hair. Rennyn had known about the white hair, but was still puzzled by it. Had the bleaching occurred during the casting, or was it some by-product of the woman's long sojourn in the Eferum?

  And so? Nearly sixty years of planning had led to this day. Niggling questions were no more useful than thinking too much about whether it was fear or anger knotting her stomach.

  Her fellow sightseers were holding their hands into the circle of distortion, marvelling at the sudden weight. Rennyn tried it herself, recognising the sensation from her own transitions, though there was no true comparison. She glanced around at the crowds, the village beyond, relieved that there was sufficient space left empty, since there was no way to stop what would happen that night. What would she have done if the manifestation had been among the buildings? But – she forced herself to ignore all but the task. She had to focus on doing what she must.

  Ignoring the others, she moved within reach of the woman's left hand. The smallest finger was missing its tip, severed cleanly at the upper joint, the injury long ago healed. Rennyn frowned at this tiny, vital thing, but didn't hesitate longer, curling her own finger to press against a pin threaded through her sleeve.

  Dropping down to her heels, she held her hand into the circle again and allowed a bead of red to fall to that blunted tip. Then she waited, trembling with an effort of will. Blood to blood. They would call to each other. Almost anything else could not truly touch her, would be slowly shifted by the distortion to the edge of the circle. But – yes. This bright mote did not. With a sluggish shimmer it sank beneath flesh and was gone. Blood to blood.

  Relieved beyond words, Rennyn stood away from the distortion, catching her breath. Done. Done without notice.

  Businesslike, she moved to stand near the woman's head, and reached into the pocket of her skirt to close her hand around cold crystal. Her left hand she held against her chest, as if still catching her breath, pressing the familiar shape of her own focus against bare skin. A tingle ran over her, and all the hair on her arms and neck stood up.

  She could taste it, could almost see the forces which warped the air in front of her, through the figure on the ground to a vast space beyond. She had to lock her knees or fall, for the weight of the distortion swayed briefly to envelop her, to press the stone in her pocket hard into the flesh of the hand which circled it. Her vision blurred, and for the barest moment most of her was standing in a dark place outside the world, with a sketch of a village in the distance and a blaze of white in the shape of a woman at her feet.

  An eye-blink was all that was needed. Rennyn let go of both stones with a sigh, and looked away as if bored with Falk's new curiosity. Done. Done and done. It was time to head home.

  "My eyes have come over queer, Danel," complained the man nearest her. "Let's have lunch now."

  A good plan. But Rennyn paused, surveying the patch of green around her one last time. A fortunate location, not in the heart of the village. Hedge to the south, buildings to the north, a tree shading a puddle-pond far to the east. Closest were the back gardens of a number of houses slicing southwest, some with fences, some without. A girl had gone into a small shed at the near corner of one of the lots. Beyond, where the house should be, was a collapsed tangle of charred timber, the remains of an old fire surrounded by an extensive and well-tended vegetable garden.

  Chewing her lip, Rennyn left the circle and counted steps to the rear wall of the shed. Too close.

  She could hear movement inside, and circled the rough building to look in the open door. A narrow bed, a shelf, a brazier, pots, pans, clothing. It was surprisingly neat and clean, and barely large enough to accommodate the wary girl who had turned to look up at her. A delicate and pretty child of fourteen or so: blonde hair raggedly cropped to short curls, a sharp little chin and very blue eyes. The straight, dark brows lowering above them declared their determined rejection.

  "Can I help you?" the girl asked, careful politeness underlain with hostility
.

  "I – was told you're available to run errands," Rennyn said, making some quick guesses. The child obviously lived here, and could probably use the coin.

  "Sometimes," the girl said. She made a general gesture toward the busy crowds. "Not right now."

  "Ah. Do you, then, know of anyone who would be available? It's important to me – I can pay a sennith for half a day's work."

  That shifted her, rapid calculation flickering through blue eyes. However much money the village might be making at the moment, little of it would trickle down to the children set to handing out tickets or playing fetch and carry.

  "What's it involve?"

  Good question. "I was to meet a friend in...Morebly." Rennyn lowered her eyes demurely. "My father does not approve, and it has taken much to arrange. But my family's plans have changed, and, well – I must send word to him. The Gold Knight Hostelry. It just requires a note to be delivered before sunset, so he will not worry."

  "Morebly," the girl said slowly. Two hours' walk away – easily done before dark, but not to return.

  "I will add five petthine for your night's accommodation. Will you do it?"

  "I – yes. All right."

  Rennyn smiled, projecting relief. "Thank you. It's so important that he know where I've gone. You need only leave the note with the hosteller: he will ask if he has received any messages when he arrives. A moment."

  She turned away, groping in the purse dangling from her wrist. There was a crumpled scrap of paper, fortunately. She had nothing prepared, but with her back turned she willed into existence a line of script, something suitably maudlin. It was even an advantage that the conjuring would fade in a day or two.

  "My family simply won't understand," she added, handing over paper and coin. "You are doing me a great service."

  "It's no problem, Miss," the girl replied, with just a hint of underlying scorn. Then she looked up, sniffing, frowning at the blameless blue sky.