The rise turned out to be loftier than it looked, and it took them some time to hike all the way to the top. The boulders that composed the large mound grew more jagged and more ancient as they climbed. When they finally reached the flat slab at the top and looked down, Stone-in-the-Wood was minuscule and shrouded in the woods below.
The center obelisk was actually only one of many pillars like it, though it was the only one large enough to be seen from below. Half a dozen wide moss-covered stones were arranged around it, all etched with Gelfling writing and some with pictographs and swirling geometric diagrams. Kylan approached the big stone in the center and touched it, feeling the damp moss where it grew in the deep marks of the words.
“Can you read it?” Naia asked. She, like most other Gelfling, did not read or write. The combination of the two was one of Kylan’s only talents, taught to him by Maudra Mera in the hopes that he might one day amount to something.
“It’s the birth-song of Stone-in-the-Wood,” he said in awe, tracing the words. “In the summer ninet and the Age of Innocence, here stood Maudra Ynid the Tree Singer, called by the weeping-trees, at the heart of the Dark Wood where the Black River flows. She drew the shape of the suns in the ground. With the blessing of the Cradle-Tree, stones multiplied from the earth, and there was born Stone-in-the-Wood, and the Gelfling flowered.”
Naia’s ears perked up.
“Maudra Ynid! I’ve heard that name . . . She was the sister of Maudra Mesabi-Nara, who brought the Gelfling race to the Swamp of Sog. Who planted Great Smerth, the tree where my clan lives. Written within Smerth’s heartwood is a similar story.”
“We have something like it in Sami Thicket, too,” Kylan said. “The Six Sisters who left the northern shore and started the Gelfling clans . . . Look! This stone has a tale of Jarra-Jen!”
Kylan went from stone to stone, reading the songs and telling them to Naia, who trailed behind him. He wasn’t sure if the songs interested her, but she listened anyway. One was a song from the Age of Harmony, of a song teller named Gyr, who traveled the world in search of the true song of Thra. Another stone told how Mother Aughra had come down from the High Hill and brought wisdom to the Gelfling of Stone-in-the-Wood—wisdom of the seasons and the stars—and taught them the shape of Thra’s three suns. Knowing the shape of the Brothers and the path of the heavens taught the Gelfling to understand the ninets, the greater seasons. In turn, the understanding of the seasons led to understanding of the land, and crops, and the cycle of life in the grander sense.
It wasn’t until the sky was too dark to read any longer that Kylan realized he had spent the entire day with the stones on the rise. Naia had fallen asleep against one of the tablets, snoring gently, while Neech darted in and out of the shadows, snapping up fluttering unamoths and other insects for his supper.
Kylan shook Naia’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for this to take all day.”
She yawned and stretched.
“You needed to read. I needed to nap.”
“Well, now we need to get moving or we’ll miss supper.”
They watched the sky turn from orange to a deep blue as they hurried down the rise. The village torches flickered on, one by one, and as they walked down, it looked as though they were coming back to a sea of fireflies. Somewhere, a musician played on a lute, and the village hearth crackled with flames within and Gelfling laughter without.
As dismal as Rian’s suggestion to keep their distance had been, Kylan and Naia avoided the hearth. A meal among others sounded nice, but every time Kylan looked at the peaceful faces of the Stonewood, all he could think about was how those faces would change if they knew what he knew. Yet he knew they would have to know, and soon—or what they didn’t know could quite possibly kill them.
“I feel guilty, almost,” Naia said quietly, undoubtedly thinking the same things. “As if it’s my fault that the Skeksis have betrayed us. That it’s our fault, somehow, that things are the way they are. I don’t want to tell them. I don’t want them to be afraid.”
“Naia! Kylan!”
The chipper voice came from below. Mythra was hopping up the steep steps, waving a hand.
“There you are! Guess what? It’s time for supper. My mother sent me to get you. Are you hungry? I hope you are, because she’s made a lot of food. Come on!”
As quickly as she had arrived, she was off, bouncing from stone to stone toward the stone hut where Kylan and Naia had stayed the previous night. Smoke came from the chimney, and the windows were warm with hearthlight. His stomach rumbled in anticipation, and they hurried after the young Stonewood girl.