To her astonishment, the pool was bubbling, but not green. Cautiously, Kate drew nearer to see only a natural bowl of boiling water, fed by the same small rivulet where Aunt Melanie had scrubbed her hand so relentlessly. The pool bubbled and splattered like the clearest of hot springs, devoid of any aroma but the faint smell of sulfur. Somehow, the evil spell had vanished. Or, Kate realized all of a sudden, it had not yet arrived.
Straightening herself, she scanned the collection of giant stones. Mist moved slowly over their deeply lined surfaces. Behind the bubbling pool, she saw a narrow passageway between the smallest boulder, which was roughly the size of a pickup truck, and the boulder next to it, which was as broad and bulky as a barn. She knew that the passageway would lead her into the center of the Circle, but she hesitated. They’re watching you, said the voice of Aunt Melanie in her memory, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She stood there, motionless as stone herself, searching for the strength to step into the passageway. Just then, she heard someone breathing beside her.
It was Laioni, her face full of awe to stand before Azanna, the Circle of Stones. Without turning from the boulders, she slipped her hand into Kate’s. This gesture by the girl with Aunt Melanie’s eyes gave Kate an unexpected surge of courage. Yet she also found herself all the more keenly aware that the true Aunt Melanie was far, far away. And, she knew in her bones, Aunt Melanie needed her help.
Side by side and hand in hand, they walked past the pool and between the two great cracked boulders. His head low to the ground, Monga followed at their heels. On their left, the gray wall of the larger boulder rose high above their heads, while on their right, the surface of the smaller boulder was coated with an undulating skin of mist. They spoke not a word, nor did Monga make a sound, as they passed through the channel.
Finally, they emerged and stepped into the middle of the Circle. Standing together, their clothing as unlike as their worlds, Kate and Laioni slowly pivoted as if greeting all seven of the stones. Each of them had a distinct shape, though all shared the same blistered gray texture. The shifting mist swirled thickly around them, making the giant boulders seem like one enormous unbroken ring of rock.
When the visitors had turned a complete circle, they stopped. Not knowing what else to do, Kate let go of Laioni’s hand and said aloud, “I am—we are—here, Great Circle. For your help. If you really are watching like my Aunt Melanie said, if you can hear me somehow, then won’t you do something to show us? Please. See, you’re my only hope.”
They waited for several minutes, but no response came. More fog flowed into the ring until all they could see of the boulders were dark shadows hovering behind a cloudy curtain. Kate felt sheepish for trying to communicate with, of all things, rocks. Even gigantic rocks. Things were different here in Lost Crater, but not that different. She shrugged, looking sadly toward Laioni, whose eyes showed only empathy.
Kate started to leave, when her foot tripped on a small stone that had been obscured by the fog. Although she caught herself before falling, the walking stick slipped from her hand and fell with a smack against the ground. As she reached to pick it up, she heard a strange sound, like a faraway echo of the stick’s impact.
Slowly, the sound swelled into a distant drumbeat that reverberated around them. Monga whimpered worriedly, and Laioni reached down to stroke his furry back. The sound grew louder, fuller, just the opposite of a normal echo, until it reached the volume of cannons blasting nearby. The cannons erupted faster and faster on all sides until Kate and Laioni both covered their ears with their hands.
The ground beneath them started to shake, clearing the mist with its vibrations. Kate was knocked to her knees by a powerful tremor, and she feared suddenly that the old volcano had come to life. She and Laioni and Monga would all perish, along with any chance to see Aunt Melanie again. The violent heaving continued, throwing them together in one ungainly heap.
Then, as swiftly as they had begun, the tremors began to fade. The great reverberations slowed and grew quieter by degrees. The mist continued to dissipate, flowing from the Circle like water from a lake whose dam has burst.
Then Kate realized with horror that the giant stones themselves were changing. Before her eyes, as though the fleeting mist were peeling away layers of crusty skin, the boulders began to metamorphose. Laioni let out a little scream and covered her mouth, while Monga crawled quickly into her lap. Kate grabbed the shaft of the walking stick and drew it protectively to herself.
Over the tops and backs of the great boulders grew gnarled and scraggly black hair, thick as tree limbs and curly as uncombed wool. Bent and bulbous noses formed from shafts of protruding rock, some narrow and twisted, others flat and globular. Kate shuddered to see a pair of deep indentations open behind each nose, where burned light as intense as newborn stars. Above these gleaming eyes, heavy ledges of rock transformed into burly brows, sprouting the same unruly hair that now covered most of the surface of the boulders. Wide mouths opened, lined with lips that burgeoned and swelled like streams of lava. Pointed chins jutted almost to the feet of the visitors. Kate suddenly understood that the cracks she had seen covering the boulders were in fact deep lines, wrinkles on the skin of these strange beings.
“You are welcome,” an infinitely deep voice rumbled. It came from one of the largest of the stone creatures, directly to Kate’s left.
“Yes, welcome,” echoed another, smaller one to the right.
“No they are not,” objected a third voice, sounding like rocks grinding together. “We don’t know them yet.”
“T-t-tellll usss whooo youuu arrrre,” crackled the biggest of the boulder-beings in a slow, difficult manner.
Kate slowly stood and drew in a deep breath. “I am Kaitlyn Prancer Gordon,” she said, her voice unsteady as she scanned the craggy creatures. No arms or legs could be seen beneath the masses of scraggly hair. Only faces, chiseled by time, were visible. And all seven of them were scrutinizing her carefully. “I come from—ah, the future. Blade…Blade, Oregon. This is Laioni. She’s a Halami, from here, well almost here, and that’s her dog, Monga.”
After a period of silence, the first creature, whose face bore more wrinkles than any of the others, stirred. “That will do for now. We ourselves have many names, among them Azanna, the Ones Beyond Age, although of course we really do age like anything else.”
“Speak for yourself,” interjected another, less wrinkled creature.
“Silence,” thundered the first angrily, as two nearly identical boulders behind Kate started giggling together, making a sound like a couple of bubbling streams. The deeply wrinkled being frowned, then added, “With age, however, comes wisdom.”
“So you must be very wise,” said the two tittering creatures in unison.
At this, the Circle erupted into a chorus of wheezes, guffaws, and other forms of crude laughter. Only the eldest creature refrained, shifting slightly from side to side with her eyes closed.
At length, the raucous laughter subsided, and the creature’s eyes again opened. “You may call us the Stonehags,” she said, a trace of disgust in her voice. “We will now tell you our names, in order of seniority. I am Untla, the oldest. I can tell you much, for I have seen many, many years.”
“If you don’t fall asleep while you’re talking,” muttered the young Stonehag on her left.
Another chorus of laughter ensued. The two like-shaped creatures rocked so hard in mirth that they bumped into each other with a crash, breaking off some brittle hairs, which tumbled to the ground in a cloud of dust.
Emboldened by these antics, Kate turned back to Untla and asked, “But how do you speak English? I mean, I can understand you perfectly.”
“To you I speak English, to your friend I speak Halami, and to the dog I speak Canine,” answered the Stonehag. “My sisters and I have the gift of universal communication, which comes from living so long and watching so many different kinds of creatures. Now Gruntla, it’s your turn.”
The largest of the
Stonehags, as big as a brontosaurus, made a low grinding sound as if she were clearing her throat. After a long pause, she said in a voice like an earthquake, “I ammmm Grrruntla. I ammmm the biggggest annd the c-c-closessst to ssstone, ssso heeeed whaaaatever I sssay, lllest I g-get aaangrrry annd—”
“Quit threatening them,” chided the smallest Stonehag, seated to the right of Untla. “You should be ashamed, spouting off like that just because they’re so tiny.” Blinking her deep-set eyes, she continued, “I am Nyla. And I have to put up with this all the time.”
Gruntla shook with rage and started to speak again, but Untla gave her a sharp look and commanded, “Enough. Now who’s next?”
“I am,” grumbled a voice on the other side of the Circle. “But I don’t trust these intruders, and I won’t tell them my name. Might put a curse on it, they might.”
“That’s Jbina, trusting everybody as usual,” blurted one of the two nearly identical Stonehags. The other one, to her right, started to titter, but she kept right on speaking. “I’m Yogula, twin sister of Bogula.”
“And just as stupid,” threw in Jbina.
“Now it’s my turn,” cut in a lighter, thinner voice, belonging to the least wrinkled of the Stonehags. “We always save the best for last, but I hate all the waiting. I am Zletna, the youngest. But tell me,” she asked, pushing her pointed chin practically into Kate’s chest, “which of us do you think is the most beautiful?”
“Not you, that’s for sure,” called Jbina.
At that, a raging argument broke out between the two Stonehags. Howling, cursing, squabbling, screeching, and thumping filled the air.
“Wait!” shouted Kate at the top of her lungs. “Stop your fighting.” The quarreling Stonehags relented, although Jbina continued to grumble to herself while rocking back and forth. “Please,” Kate pleaded. “There isn’t time for this.”
“What’s the hurry?” snapped Jbina. “Our kind of time we count in thousands of years.”
“Hear her out,” grumbled Nyla.
“Tell us what brought you to us,” commanded Untla, her wrinkled face contorting into an enormous yawn.
“I need your help,” began Kate. “This stick—it brought me here, but I belong five hundred years from now. And I’ve got to get back right away.”
“Why the rush?” Jbina demanded suspiciously.
“Aunt Melanie’s in trouble. And the loggers, they’re going to cut down the redwoods any minute now. She’ll try to stop them, I know, and anything could happen to her.”
Untla, eyes closed, said, “This person is known to us.”
Kate’s heart skipped a beat. “Aunt Melanie? You know her?”
“Yes,” answered Untla. “She has visited us before.”
“Yyyyou’re wrrrrong,” replied Gruntla, speaking in her agonizingly slow manner. “Thaaat waaas annnotherrr p-p-perrrsonnn.”
Untla’s eyes opened. “No,” she declared. “The same. She came with the very walking stick that this girl used just now to summon us.”
“That’s just it,” Kate fretted. “I don’t know how to use it. If it called you, that was by accident. I need you to tell me how to make it take me home. Do it for Aunt Melanie’s sake, since you know her, not for mine.”
“Melanie. Hmmm, I remember her now,” said Zletna. “I quite liked her.”
“You’re such an easy mark,” derided Bogula. “You just liked her because she called you ‘dear.’”
“So what?” retorted Zletna. “I like being treated with some respect for a change.”
“Silence,” bellowed Untla. Concentrating her gaze on Kate, she continued, “You indeed have a serious problem, if what you say is true. For there is only one being alive who can tell you how to use that stick, and it is not one of us.”
“But who is it?” demanded Kate. “Who can tell me?”
“Wait,” interjected Jbina. “How do we know she didn’t steal the stick from its rightful owner?” Narrowing her eyes, she added, “None of these two-legged creatures can be trusted. They only arrived here a century or two ago, and they already act like they’re the only ones around.”
“Some are like that,” said Nyla, “but some are not. They’re different from each other, just like we are.”
“Except for us,” piped Yogula, leaning to one side to nudge Bogula, who sniggered noisily.
Stepping nearer to Untla, Kate held the walking stick before her craggy face. “You know I’m telling the truth,” she implored.
Untla lifted her knobby nose into the air and looked skyward, deliberating.
“Please,” said Kate.
The nose descended. She peered at Kate for a long while, then finally spoke. “The ruler of the Tinnanis. If you want to learn the ways of your stick of power, you must go to him.”
Laioni cried out suddenly, startling Kate. With consternation on her face, the Halami girl pointed in the direction of the lake beyond the boulders. She babbled some words Kate could not comprehend.
“What she is telling you,” spoke Nyla sympathetically, “is that the Tinnani Chieftain can only be found by voyaging across the blue water to the island called Ho Shantero.”
“The black island?” asked Kate in disbelief as a cold shiver slid down her spine.
“Yes,” replied the Stonehag. “The one whose name means Island That Moves.”
“And the Tinnanis—I thought they were just a myth. Are you sure that’s right?”
“The Tinnanis are no myth,” answered Untla firmly. “They are merely seldom seen, or are seen only in disguise, like the Stonehags. The stick you carry was made by the Tinnanis many generations ago. It is possible that even the Chieftain does not remember how it can be used.”
At that moment, the ancient Untla yawned widely, exposing several rows of blackened teeth. “He is very unpredictable,” she continued. “As changeable as the weather, just like his father and grandfather before him. But hear me well: Hold tightly to your stick of power. The world outside this Circle is already fraught with danger, and the power of evil grows steadily stronger.”
Kate’s mouth went dry and she asked, “Isn’t there anything you can tell me about how to get to him safely? That island scares me half to death.”
Untla yawned once more, this time making a deep, dull groan, so low in pitch it nearly fell below Kate’s range of hearing. “The stick will show you the way, if you pay attention.” She then closed her eyes and started immediately to snore, making a sound like a crashing landslide.
Shaking her head, Kate merely stared at the sleeping Stonehag. Then another voice called to her.
It was Nyla, smallest of the Stonehags. “There is one more thing we can tell you,” she said in her gentlest rumble. “Show me the walking stick, and I will read you the words carved on its shaft.”
Kate lifted the object near to Nyla’s wrinkled face. The creature concentrated for a moment, crinkling her bulbous nose. At last, she spoke: “These words are written in the Tinnani Old Tongue, a speech so ancient I have not seen it for many ages. I am not sure I can still remember how to read it.”
“Try,” pleaded Kate. “It might help.”
Nyla’s deeply recessed eyes studied the shaft for a long moment. At irregular intervals, she made strange guttural sounds that seemed to indicate puzzlement, discovery, or simply effort. Finally, she spoke again, rumbling with satisfaction: “There. I am not so forgetful as I thought. These words are some sort of prophecy.” And she read:
Fire of greed shall destroy;
Fire of love shall create.
“But what does it mean?” asked Kate. “What does fire have to do with anything?”
“That,” answered the Stonehag, “only you can discover.” She furrowed her already wrinkled brow. “But beware. Fire can strengthen and sustain you, but it also can consume you. Your enemies are near, and many. Your path home will be more difficult than you ever imagined.” She eyed Kate tenderly for a moment and the edges of her swelling lips lifted slightly. “If you ever make
it back to your own time, I want you to come visit me again.”
Kate gazed into Nyla’s deeply recessed eyes, seeing the bright bowls of light within. “I don’t think I’ll get the chance.”
The Stonehag quivered. “If you can somehow learn the true meaning of the prophecy, then you may find your way home. And, I suspect, you may find something else as well.” Nyla heaved a heavy sigh, full of ancient longing. “At least you have a purpose, a calling, something you must do with your life. That is a blessing, a true blessing. Some of us can only wait and watch as life moves past.”
“I’ll trade you,” Kate said flatly, turning to go.
“Wait,” commanded the voice of Untla, awake once more. She yawned again, groaning deeply, before continuing. “There is one thing more. We have a gift for you, a gift that might help you on your journey.”
Jbina grumbled something to herself, and Nyla glared at her. But Untla paid no heed. The wrinkled being heaved her massive body to one side with a thunderous grunt. Kate drew closer to see what she had uncovered, and discovered a spring of purest water gurgling out of the ground.
“Drink,” said Untla.
Kate bent lower when a flash of memory halted her. “There was another pool,” she said worriedly, “a poison pool. It was just outside your Circle.”
“Then it is no concern of ours,” replied Untla. “The water at your feet will enable you, for a time, to share the Stonehags’ gift of communication. You will understand all that you hear, whatever the tongue, and you will answer back and be understood. It is a gift you already possess in part, as does the one you call Aunt Melanie, for you have already shown that you can walk the bridges of time and place.”