Chapter 2

“What do you mean?” Daynin begged. “What is this Sa-Si-than Stone?”

“Scythian, boy, SSScythian,” the Boozer hissed. “The legend says it has the secrets of all the heavens writ down for ‘im what finds it. Take the Stone to the Great Circle at Briarhenge, and ye can read where the sun will be at the equinox. Supposedly, ye can even predict when the sun and the moon are gobbled by that great black demon in the sky. Imagine it, boy. To be able to say when the sky’ll go black for a time. No one’s ever done that in our day. But it’s said the Scythians could do it, and they were worm meat long before the Norsemen came. That stone’s the only record, and there’s those that’ll pay a Duke’s ransom, or slit your gullet to possess it.”

“My grandfather said . . .”

“Words is words right now, boy!” the Boozer snapped. “We got to be haulin’ out there to get that Stone. Quick now, you get down and throw my goods in the wagon, whilst I hitch ole Abaddon to the trace. Go on! Daylight and prosperity’s a burnin’.”

Daynin did as the Boozer ordered. The old man’s excitement was rapidly becoming contagious. The boy could feel his heart beating faster as he loaded the wagon, carefully placing the Boozer’s books last on top of the heap.

“What do we do with it once we get the Stone?” Daynin asked, as the wagon jounced heavily over the last remaining ruts of his grandfather’s field.

“Do? Why, with it, boy, we can do anything we want!” the Boozer exclaimed. “Once we’ve got the Stone and can read it, the very powers of the heavens’ll open up to us. Think of it, boy! The magic I know now will pale in significance compared to that of the Scythian Stone.”

Daynin turned abruptly to stare at the Boozer’s gnarled profile. Fear swept over him again. He wished to be back at his grandfather’s hovel, safely asleep in front of the fire. “Are you a sorcerer?” he asked sheepishly, as if afraid to hear the response he knew was coming.

“Magician,” the Boozer proclaimed. “There’s a world of difference. Sorcerers are them what’s evil with nothing but evil intent. You know what a sorcerer would give to have the power of the Scythian Stone?”

Daynin shook his head, “no”.

“Anything they had, boy, that’s what. The Stone’d make ‘em legitimate, you see. Not just some evil crackpot who does bad things for the fun of it, but genuine knowledge and power, that’s all. If this is the Stone, we’re gonna be real careful who we be tellin’ about it, wager on that!”

The magician pulled the wagon to an abrupt stop a few yards from where the Stone lay. He climbed down and hurried over to examine it. Within seconds, he seemed to be convinced. “Help me turn it over, lad. If they’s runes on the backside, it’s treasure we’ve got and not some mislaid headstone.”

The back proved to be full of the same mysterious encoding as the front. Even the edge of the stone was engraved all the way around with more of the intricate carvings. The Boozer could barely contain his excitement. He danced a strange jig around the upturned stone, chanting words that Daynin had never heard before.

A bit later, the old magician grinned and brushed the dirt off his hands. “There it is, boy. A handy bit o’ work, eh? You didn’t think my rigging would lift the weight did ya, now?”

Daynin smiled and shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen such a contraption. Is it magic?”

“Of course it’s magic, you bean-headed plowboy, but not the way you think. It’s ropes and pulleys, that’s all. Best magic there is—common sense and leverage. Remember that, boy. Now, let’s get this plunder over to your grandfather that he may have a say in its future.”

It was mid-afternoon when the wagon rolled up to the modest hovel that the McKinnon clan called home. Daynin’s grandfather stormed out of his front door, ready to argue or fight with the unwanted visitor until he saw his grandson’s face appear from under the wagon’s cover.

“Can ye not see it’s well past the dinner time, boy?” he bellowed. “You shoulda been home from the market long ago. We’ve got seed to ready!”

Daynin jumped down from the wagon, expecting to be clouted for his tardiness. Instead, his grandfather seemed transfixed, staring up at the wagon’s driver. “This is my friend, grandfather,” Daynin blurted out.

“Boozer’s me name, kind sir . . .” the magician said as he climbed down clumsily from his lofty perch, “. . .and magic is me game. That is, it was, until your young cherub of a grandson, there, told me about you and the Stone.”

“What stone?” the elder McKinnon demanded.

The Boozer replied, “Sure it is I am you’ve unearthed a treasure of immense significance in your field. Have ye ne’er heard of the Scythian Stone, Ean McKinnon?”

“Aye, that I have,” McKinnon answered. “And so I’ve heard of a thousand other such treasures. I give ‘em as little thought as flies on a boar’s ears. They be nothin’ but old fool’s tales and myths.”

“Then take a spy in me wagon and see a myth come to life,” the Boozer countered. “There be nothing but truth in this tale, and we brought it to you so’s you can help us make a disposition of the spoils.”

“Spoils!” McKinnon scoffed. He poked his head in the wagon and shook it mockingly. “Nothin’ here but that bloody headstone.”

“But grandfather,” Daynin pleaded, “the Boozer says it’s a treasure, and I believe him.”

The elder McKinnon pushed the boy aside and stormed toward his front door, saying, “Then take it to the Duke and collect your reee-ward. That is, if ya live long enough. Be gone with you, now, ya scaggy nightmare. I’ll hear nothing more o’ this tripe.” With that, he stormed inside and slammed the door.

The Boozer remounted his wagon. “Come on, lad,” he said. “There’s some spice in what your grandpere says. We’ll take it to a man I know what can say for sure if it is the Stone, and the worth thereof.”

“But I can’t leave the village,” Daynin protested. “I have to help with the planting tomorrow. You don’t understand . . .”

“I understand aplenty, boy. I understand that with the spoils you can get from this here Stone, you can take your grandpere and go back to Scotia in the style of a real genteel highland clansman. ‘Course that probably ain’t much to be considered, you bein’ the great landlords here in Hafdeway and all. I mean, you’d have to be leavin’ this here great and mighty estate behind and such.”

Daynin’s ears burned at the very thoughts the Boozer was implanting. “Go back to Scotia?” the boy questioned aloud. “Back to McKinnon land?” Daynin practically flew into the wagon. “I’ll go, but I have to be back by first light.”

“First light it is, boy,” the magician agreed. The cackling inside his ugly, hair covered head seemed so loud, the Boozer feared the boy might actually hear him celebrating. It’s working, he thought. Better than e’er I thought it would. Now, on to Tendalfief!!!

After a long, jolting silence on the road to Tendalfief, Daynin finally summoned enough courage to ask the Boozer the question he’d held onto all afternoon. “What happened to uhh, to your uhh . . .”

“Me kisser? Burned in a cauldron, boy. Seethin’ with all manner of slime and black bile. Warn’t a pretty sight, you can pledge on that one.”

“But what happened? Did you fall into the cauldron?”

“Manner o’ speakin’, t’was so,” the magician replied. “Only I had a little help from a man I trusted. Seed was ‘is name. Seed of Cerberus. Vilest of the vile, he turned out to be. He was an apprentice to Merlin himself, just like me, afore Merlin found out the boy was a demon seed, that is. By then it was too late. The Seed stole all of Merlin’s charms of ‘making’ and then his ‘chants’ to boot. I tried to stop him when I found out what he planned to do. This here mess was my reward. The Seed pushed my head into a vat of boiling goo, then cursed me with an evil spell. Lucky for me he hadn’t yet learned any powerful spells. I might’ve ended up a cockroach for life. But my hair’s been dirty ever since, for if I wash it, spiders and roaches come a crawlin’ out. And if I cut it or shave it, great oozing scabs appear.”

Daynin’s heart leapt into his throat listening to this horrendous tale. He cringed at the thought of spiders, and felt a great pity for the Boozer, cursed as he was. “Is there no way to lift this curse?” he asked.

“Sure there is. They’s always a way to reverse a curse, boy. But ye got to get right in the face of the one what put the curse on ye and make him take it back. That’s the only way, short of killin’ the curse maker.”

“Have you ever tried to go back to, uhh, wherever this Seed is? To get the curse lifted I mean?”

“Can’t do that. The Seed never leaves Blackgloom. He’d likely lose his powers if he did. There’s no way in or out of there, save by the use of sorcery.”

“What is Blackgloom?” the boy asked.

“Bloody great fortress north of Insurlak. Surrounded by trees so tall ye cannot see the tops. Trees of a girth so great that three men can’t link arms around one. And guarded inside, it’s said, by demons and beasts of which nightmares are made. No place for the faint hearted, wager that.”

Daynin’s curiosity grew with each new facet of the old magician’s story. He asked, “Then no one’s ever been there?”

“None what’s lived to tell of it, boy,” the Boozer snapped.

“Lights ahead!” Daynin cried out after another long stretch of silence.

“Aye, that’ll be The Never Inn. We’re just ten leagues from Tendalfief and the Al Cazar. Then we’ll know if we be fools or finders.”

“What’s the Al Cazar, Boozer?”

“He ain’t a what, master McKinnon, but a who. He’s the biggest cheese in the north of Britain. His mage’ll know if the Stone’s real, and may even make us an offer for it. We’ll have to be keepin’ a sharp eye after that. Once the word gets out, every blaggard for a hundred leagues’ll be after the booty we’ve got. Have ye knowledge of weapons, boy?”

The question came as a mild shock. The idea that they might have to fight for the Stone had never entered Daynin’s mind. “I’m good with stones, and a fair to midlin’ archer,” he said. “I can bring down a squirrel at a hundred paces.”

The Boozer pulled the wagon to a stop near the barn of the inn. He held out his hand to the boy and said, “Take this silver and get us some cheese. Bread and a tankard of ale, too, if you’ve enough. It’s a long ride to Tendalfief and I don’t want to be stoppin’ on this here thieves’ road tonight.”