Lost Stone: Savior Stones Chronicles, #1

Chapter 1

Venomous laughter snaked up the stairs. Nat left the scrub brush on the floor and sat back on her heels. She snatched the two ends of her braids, tied them together at the base of her skull, and made sure to tuck in the ends. She wouldn’t give them anything to grab hold of this time.

Nat picked up the brush again. Mud-covered boots stomped up beside her on the rough wood-plank landing. She didn’t need to look up to know the three girls towering over her were the daughters of the housemistress. Their entire reason for living seemed to be to make her life as miserable as possible.

Look, it’s the unwanted old maid, Rachel mocked.

Nat could hardly be considered an old maid, but at thirteen, she was the oldest girl in the home.

Why does Mother keep her here? Surely, she could sell her to a workhouse, Gretchen, the oldest, responded.

Even they don’t want the wretch. Violet’s smug tone, only slightly less annoying than her squeaky voice, sounded like it came through her nose.

Nat sat still and waited. Years of their torment had proven she could do nothing against it without being punished by their mother. Even if she tried to get back at them, she’d still have to redo the stairs and floors because of all the mud they tracked in. Best to wait them out and then return to her cleaning. She made a quick calculation. The added work at this hour of the day when she’d been almost finished would mean she’d miss supper. It couldn’t be helped now, though.

Gretchen stepped back as if to judge the effect of her taunts. Maybe there was a way to pay back the wicked girl. A year younger than Nat, Gretchen didn’t stand nearly as tall. It could work. Nat scratched at the back of her right hand. The water bucket moved to the right. Nat could move things just by looking at them. Not big things, and not far, but she could pull a book from a high shelf or call a brush to her hand from a foot away.

The effort of moving the heavy water bucket proved more challenging. It inched another finger width toward her target. She scratched at her hand again since it bothered her more than normal. Could she have used too much lye in the cleaning water today?

Look, she’s too dumb to even know she’s been insulted, Gretchen laughed.

She’s become ever so boring, sisters. Rachel crossed her arms. I remember the days when she’d cry and run for Mother.

A little closer and the bucket would end up right where Nat wanted it.

Gretchen sighed. "But Mother punished her because of all the fuss she made. Mother never believes we would do her any harm."

And Mother wouldn’t care if we did, Violet added.

Almost in position.

When the sissy learned she’d get no aid from any of the other girls, she just became dull. Rachel stomped her foot, leaving more of the mud from her boots for Nat to clean.

With a hard breath, the bucket finally arrived behind Gretchen’s legs. Nat rose up on her knees as though to turn and resume her work. It had the desired effect and all three girls startled away from her with a small yelp.

Gretchen’s backward momentum caused her legs to bump into the bucket. She lost her balance and her fat behind fell into the soapy water, splashing out much of the contents over her and the floor.

The other two jumped away from their sister as Gretchen screamed.

Nat returned to her heels and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Now, Nataline, we are not to revel in the downfall of our enemies. Have I not taught you to love them?

The voice in her head was a familiar one. It had come to her since her first days at the Stepping Stones Home for Wayward Girls. What a ridiculous name for a place where there were no steps to a better life from here, and they were not lost and wandering girls, but orphans.

You horrid creature! Gretchen screamed as she struggled to get out of the bucket, but she seemed to be stuck.

The more Gretchen wiggled, the harder Nat clutched her hands together and closed her eyes. The laughter clawing at her insides grew painful to hold in.

Nataline, we are not to repay evil for evil. You are better than that, my sweet girl.

As always, the voice came with a near-crushing wave of peace and love. Why is this the only affection she’d ever received?

Now, you know that is not true.

The voice knew her every thought.

You are deeply loved. Beautifully made for the delight of the Almighty Himself. You have always been loved with an unrelenting power.

That voice, which only she could hear, with those words, was the only thing keeping her from dissolving into tears most days.

Rachel and Violet finally helped their sister out of her mess, though they snickered at her mishap.

You wicked cow! Gretchen screamed as her skirt soaked her hose.

I sat here and watched you track mud all over the floor I scrubbed. What could I have done from here? Nat spoke in quiet words drawing on the strength and calm of the voice, though she bit her cheek to stop the giggle still tickling inside her.

You put that bucket there.

She tipped her head and look at the furious girl. Her pretty yellow dress with its many ruffles now hung soaked and limp. Of course, I brought the bucket. How else am I supposed to clean? she asked sweetly.

You moved it so I’d fall into it.

From over here? How?

You’re a sorcerer, Gretchen screeched.

"If I was, I’d be a sorceress. Are you foolish enough to believe such things even exist, Mistress Gretchen?"

"OOF! Gretchen stomped her foot and clenched her fists at her sides. Her face, which often unnaturally flushed, was now bright red. I’m telling Mother. She’ll cane you for sure."

As usual, Nat had no control over what these girls did or the response of their mother. Mistress Swanson was a cruel woman and her rage-filled outbursts were unpredictable. Though in truth, Nat had suffered fewer beatings than many, and she had been here the longest. There were times she thought the voice somehow saved her—but that didn’t make sense because it was only a voice in her head.

You’ll pay, Gretchen vowed as she stomped down the hall. She left a trail of water and mud in her wake. The other two eyed Nat with a mixture of hatred and bewilderment and hurried after their sister.

Nat waited until a door slammed shut before she threw back her head and laughed until her sides hurt.

You must always be careful, Nataline.

The voice was the only one to use her full name. She wasn’t even sure Mistress Swanson knew it.

By the great tower, what has happened to you? Mistress Swanson’s yell oozed from under the door.

It wasn’t me, Mother. Nat did it, Gretchen cried.

Nat leapt up and collected the bucket.

They are already beginning to suspect things are different with you, my girl. Do not give them cause to scrutinize you more closely. You must never reveal what you can do.

I know, Nat whispered as she hurried down the stairs. She wove a pattern between the mud splotches so as not to track it anywhere else in the house. Keep it a secret—always.

It is for your own safety I urge this of you, Nataline. You must stay hidden.

But for how long?

The Almighty alone knows, dear.

Nat!

Nat fled Mistress Swanson’s screech and slipped through the kitchen and out the back of the girls’ home to the pump over the well. Best find a way to linger here. If she was at all lucky, Mistress Swanson would become busy with other matters in preparation for the meal and Nat could continue her work without a whipping.

Please, she begged quietly.

Chapter 2

Nat stood at one of the many windows of the dorm room she shared with several younger girls. She looked out at the dark city. As she’d predicted, cleaning the mud had made her too late to make it in time for dinner. Nat could almost hear Mistress Swanson say the first words of one of her many rules. After about the third word, all the girls would finish the well-known rule as a sing-song chorus. Nat muttered it under her breath now. If you wish to eat, you arrived on time or you will eat nothing at all. Not that Nat missed the flavorless mush, but something in her belly was better than nothing.

She had been lucky enough not to have been seen by the mistress while cleaning the muddy stairs while working her way back up to the second-floor landing where she’d had the incident with her daughters.

Nat turned her attention from her bleak mood to the even gloomier view outside. Like the name of the orphanage she stood in, the city itself was badly named. Fairlight was neither pleasant to live in nor was it light. Most of the buildings were four- or five-story stone structures. All of them were coated in the same thick black gunk that hung in the air and blocked out much of the sun. And all of them were crammed so close together that a horse-drawn cart could hardly maneuver in the streets and allow people to pass at the same time. And there were buildings as far as she could see in every direction. It was a bleak place to live. Bleak or not, Nat had not been outside further than the street in front of the home since her arrival seven years ago.

Nat shivered and drew the holey threadbare blanket from her bed. She wrapped it around herself and moved to the small round stove which stood against the wall at the end of the aisle between the many beds. She added a chunk of coal. Mistress Swanson rationed the black fuel to the dormitory on the third floor in order to keep her chambers on the second floor more than comfortable. When she was younger, Nat had rested against her door on nights when the coal ran out upstairs.

Though she turned to another window, the dark, gloomy view didn’t alter. She rubbed her arms to drive away the chill. Icicles grew around the leaky window frames and sheets of frost climbed up the inside of the glass in winter. Spring was supposed to be on the way, but under the thick perpetual coal smoke, it was hard to tell if the seasons ever changed. Nat had read in a book once that trees in some places had leaves that turned yellow, orange, and red. She could only see one tree from her window perch. Its leaves were always brown.

With a deep breath, she leaned against the thin strip of wall between two windows and closed her eyes. It hadn’t always been this way. Deep in her memory, she knew she’d once lived in a grand house surrounded by a garden with trees and flowers and bushes. The walls inside were so bright she squinted against them even in her memory. White, yellow, and gold covered every surface. Chairs had bumpy carved edges and soft fabric seats, and there were long cushioned sofas too. And fat beds piled high with covers and pillows. Nat remembered that all the many rooms shone like the sun never did in Fairlight.

There had been more. Laughter. A pretty woman with streaks of gold in her hair. A man with dark hair and a short beard. And she thought there had been a little boy—or maybe two. It was just before her sixth birthday the last she’d seen them. The recollection of those times grew fainter each year.

Crying, Nat pushed off the wall and shoved the memories away. They only brought pain. She’d lived in the SSHWG—Sh-Wig as the girls called it when Mistress Swanson wasn’t around to hear—ever since. In the beginning, there were hopes that she would return home again, that someone who knew her family would come and rescue her. As more years went by, even the hope of being adopted or leaving to work as a maid in some rich person’s home faded. She had long since resigned herself to living here, toiling under Mistress Swanson’s cruel hand until the Almighty deemed her ready to leave. Whatever that meant.

Quiet footsteps drew Nat’s attention to the door. The other girls returned from dinner. Eighteen girls currently called Sh-Wig home. They ranged in age from six to ten. She was the one exception at thirteen. And all of them wore the same coarse, tattered style of garment that barely covered their arms to their elbows and their legs below their knees. Their only other possession was a pair of slippers with holes, handed down from one girl to the next until they were useless.

The girls’ shoulders slouched forward, and their arms hung. Though it was only about seven in the evening, each one shuffled to her cot, wrapped in her one blanket, and curled into a ball. Some cried, but none dared to do so loudly. They were trained to be silent and stay out of Mistress Swanson’s way.

Nat moved between the beds. She assured where she could, rubbed the back of another, and smiled at one other. It was her self-imposed job to make sure the girls were as well as they might be in this situation, and she cared for them as a big sister would. Again, she wondered if those boys from the life in the big bright house might have been her siblings.

Once everyone was fast asleep, Nat crept out of the room. She’d lived in Sh-Wig long enough to know every creak in every board and how to avoid them. She had a set pattern on the stairs she could walk down in her sleep without making a sound.

On the bottom floor, she turned away from the kitchen and dining room. Anything left over had been given to Wolf and Bane, Mistress Swanson’s two beastly black dogs. To take from them meant losing a hand. Nat shuddered and went around the stairs toward the front of the home.

Prospective parents and workhouse managers came to view the girls in this area. Therefore, it was kept neat and in good order. Visitors were never allowed upstairs, or even to the stairs for that matter. The first room was a sitting area. It was a room with light green wallpaper for meeting with individual girls. The second larger room had desks on one side and shelves of books on the other. It gave the appearance that Mistress Swanson educated her girls in order to provide them that step up the title of her institution promised. In truth, no one ever sat at those desks unless the city manager came for an inspection.

Nat had been fortunate in that she’d just begun to learn her letters and to read some simple words before she’d arrived here. A couple of older girls at the time had helped her learn more. That was before they were sent off to work in a dress shop or a laundry and Mistress Swanson deemed Nat the one girl no one else could befriend.

Nat pushed the old hurts away and slid between two bookcases. Over the years she had gone row by row, shelf by shelf, from the back to the front, reading every single book. She learned history, mathematics, science, medicine, and poetry. But her favorite were the stories.

She curled in her blanket. This was the one spot in the entire house she was convinced didn’t have a draft. With slow movement, she pulled the book she’d hidden on the bottom shelf into her lap and let her mind escape the heartbreaking memories of the past and the torment of the present. In the worlds of myth and legend, she learned of heroes and bravery. She found strength and a tiny measure of joy.

Nat! A harsh whisper cut down the stairs. Oh, you worthless girl. Where are you? Nat, come here this moment.

Chapter 3

The pounding of his racing feet was echoed by another’s beside him. Heavier footfalls followed them. Stop! Thieves. Someone, stop them!

A whistle blew several times. Halt! More whistles.

Jer cut tight at a corner, and Burt fell a step behind. The city of Dimward had many places to hide if one could get to them without being seen. Jer jumped over trash as he raced down an alley and burst out onto the cobblestone street beyond. Two hapless steps brought him directly in front of a fancy black carriage. The shiny paint on the vehicle gleamed in the harsh afternoon sun.

The horses reared at his sudden appearance. He whirled and ducked to keep from suffering a hoof to his face. Atop his perch, the driver shook his fist at him and roared. Dumb kid! Get out of the road.

Burt dashed behind the carriage as it lurched forward. He joined Jer, to charge through a curtained market area in a wider alley. They wove between the stands and milling shoppers and turned into a tavern halfway down the lane. Through a back room and out into a different lane, they crossed another market area and stepped into a shop with many hats. They tried on several and watched closely as the constables ran past, still blowing their whistles.

Before the shop owner could raise an alarm, they dropped the hats and headed out in the opposite direction from the officers. As the shouts and whistles faded behind them, they slowed and continued on their way to the edge of town. Burt laughed and held up a leather pouch of coins he’d nicked. He glanced at Jer and shook them. Worth every heart-pounding moment.

Jer wiped sweat from his brow and shrugged. He didn’t want to steal. The voice in his head forbade it and, though he couldn’t prove it, Jer believed she prevented his involvement in any crimes—other than as a distraction to their target.

As they approached the workhouse area, tall apartments gave way to single-story, wide structures. Many had tall smoke stacks. Few of these buildings had windows. Between a red brick warehouse used to make fabric and a gray stone one where shoes were made, they approached a narrow tunnel used to access the sewer system. A gang of kids had found a spot away from the smells to create a makeshift home down in the darkness.

A figure stepped from the shadow of the opening as they neared. Boys. So, have you earned your keep today? The boy who claimed to be their leader, Litton Shark, was the oldest of the kids in the tunnel. At fifteen, he stood only a few inches taller than Jer who was eleven. Shark wore gentleman’s knickers that stopped below his knee with an oversized nobleman’s dress shirt. A fat man’s vest with a pocket watch on its gold chain hung under a long jacket. Shark had pushed the jacket open. One hand rested on a folded knife at his waist. Though his tall socks had holes, Shark was the only one to have decent shoes.

Of course, everything Shark had, he’d stolen or had one of the other kids nick for him. The clump of black hair on the top of his head stood on end, making him look taller than he was. His dark eyes and a ragged red scar down his right cheek added to his formidable appearance.

Burt brushed his long brown hair out of his eyes and held up the pouch. Everyone knew better than to hide any of their stolen goods from Shark. His bite was quick and deadly.

Shark patted Burt on the shoulder, took the pouch, and put it in his coat pocket. What a ridiculous display to wear any jacket on a day like today. Here in Dimward far to the south, spring had already taken hold this year, and even if Jer hadn’t run through half the town, he would still be hot. But Shark only cared about appearances. There’s grub inside. I’ll see you get your split. Which meant Burt might see a coin for all his efforts, but he would get a meal and a place to sleep for tonight.

And you? Shark raised his chin toward Jer as Burt disappeared without a backward glance.

Nothing again, Jer shrugged as he dug the toe of his shoe into the dirt gathered around the tunnel entrance.

Nothing? Shark mimicked him. His right hand came down with a loud thump on Jer’s shoulder. You know the rule. No booty, no entry.

Jer nodded. Where else could