Into the Stone Land by Robert Stanek Page B

then that even the littlest kindness mattered. Something small could affect big change. He saw the world differently after that. He began to see through other people’s eyes, and he let them see through his eyes. The village was stronger together. Hope could be given just as easily as it could be taken.
    More than once, he turned in the marketplace and caught her eyes fixed on him, only to flit away. He began to feel like he owed her something. Undeniably it was he who should have thanked her and not the other way around. He thought about doing just that on occasion, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself. And now it never would. Because he was headed to the stone land and might never return.
    â€œToo late now,” he told himself. “Someone else will have Ellie’s circle before I do.”
    Tall planted his staff, pushed off hard as he jumped. He looked back as he landed on the other side of the crossing with a thump. The yearling and the mare were keeping pace at his side. The hatchlings were swimming along in a thinning channel. It took only a few steps for him to realize something was wrong. Some of the larger houses didn’t shift much beneath one’s feet, but they always shifted a little. This house didn’t shift at all and there were hints of an old path leading into the weed-grass. A clear sign the house was occupied—or had been at one time.
    He pushed his way through the tall grass and came upon a thick stand of scrub trees. A wall of prickly tangle as thick and high as he’d ever seen was beyond this. He was pushing his way through and under the tangle, trying to avoid the long spikes, when he slipped down a steep incline.
    The unexpected slide initially took his breath away. Of course, he has never been in such a place and immediately felt trapped. Surely the high ground on either side of him must be closing in on him. If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn the land was trying to tell him to stop, to turn back, to go home.
    The hollow, cut deep into the land, had a channel running through it. Tall walked to the water’s edge and looked into the flow, following the shifting waters with his eyes. Something about the fast-flowing water was frightening. Somehow the flow to his right must go back to where he just came from, which meant the opposite direction was where he wanted to go.
    The position of the sun seemed to confirm this. He turned to follow the flow away. No sooner had he taken a step than he felt himself being ripped back around almost as if giant, unseen hands had him. Soon he found his arm and leg movements were restricted.
    In the village they played a game with vines, but he always managed to slip out of the bindings eventually. Not so now. The harder he struggled, the tighter the invisible bonds held him. He relaxed, tried to work the bindings down his body.
    Somehow it all came back to growing, gathering, and the trades in the village. The vine game was a gatherer’s game. Vines held gathered goods and the knots had to be tied in just the right way. Perhaps the bindings that held him had knots he could slip. He tried to work the bindings with his hands, found only air.
    Tall knew there must be more than air holding him. He moved his left arm up, wiggling slowly, methodically until his hand touched the pocket of his pack. He worked with his thumb and forefinger. It took many long moments to slip open the corner of the pack seal, many more to reach in and grasp one of the long pod sticks.
    Working the pod to his mouth was even harder than getting into the pack. Not willing to chance losing the pod, he pushed the pod against his lips and bit into the entire length. The case surrounding the seeds was even more awful tasting than the seeds themselves. But it was the seeds that blasted open his mind, creating a swirling blend of the here and now and that other place he had almost been lost in. Second sight, the smoot had called it, and