Of Sea and Stone (Secrets of Itlantis) Read Online Free

the ledge beside the sea, heading for the village proper. I could smell salt and fire, and the distant sound of music echoed across the water. The sea lapped lazily at the lip of rock I stood on, hissing and cooing its familiar, soothing song.
    I paused only a moment to gaze at the string of boats again before making my way across the carved path that curved up around the outside of the rock, leading to the center of the village where the people would be gathering. The wind blew so strong that my eyes watered, but it made me feel alive and, for once, happy. I moved quicker as the music grew louder, and laughter echoed against the rock walls ahead.
    I reached the top of the path and ducked into the hollowed common place on the inside of the rock, a porous serious of openings that led to both various dwelling places and public buildings, as well as provided a view of the shallow waters between the rocks. I peered at the crowd below. Many people carried lanterns or candles, and lamps of oil burned at regular intervals. Everything glowed.
    The horizon shimmered like the air above a fire, and against it, the colored sails of the merchants’ boats looked like birds on the water. On the Training Rock at the west side of the village, overlooking a restless green sea, a line of boys and almost-men had formed. They carried spears, all of them, and wore the traditional masks of contestants in the competition. They stood straight in the dying sunlight, faces turned resolutely at the target propped at one end of the rock. Beside the target, a fluttering piece of painted cloth hanging from a wooden frame, stood a thick-muscled man, the spear master, with a list of names. He shouted them out one at a time.
    I looked for Kit’s shirt and hood, distinctive because they’d come from a trader from the White Cliffs and bore stripes of purple dye. After a moment’s searching, I spotted him, sans mask, standing at the edge of the crowd. He had not yet joined the line of young men, although he carried a mask and spear. He broke into a smile that leaked relief at the sight of me, and I couldn’t help but return it as I descended the winding steps and entered the throng of people, darting around elbows and past knees until I was beside him. When Kit smiled, even the sun had to smile back at him.
    At the moment, though, his smile was strained.
    “Haven’t they called your name yet?” I asked.
    Kit shook his head. The rest of the village lined the edge of the Training Rock, watching. The winner of the spear-throwing competition would light the fire at the Lighting, and the crowd was breathless with anticipation.
    Sweat beaded Kit’s forehead, and his curly black hair stuck to his neck.
    “I’m going to lose,” he said, swiveling his head to look from me to the target set at the opposite end of the rock. “You know what happens to the one who finishes last.”
    I did know. While the winner had the honor of lighting the pyre, the loser was punished with six lashes across his back and no food from the feast. It was a cruel tradition, started by the spear master and meant to motivate the boys.
    I looked at my best friend with a sinking feeling. I’d seen him throw.
    My stomach tightened into a knot, and my delight for the coming festivities bled away, replaced by dread, and anger at the stupid rule. Why did those in power always use their strength and abilities to hurt the lesser, weaker, slower, and unlucky? Rage smoldered in me, threatening to ignite.
    “You throw better than any of them,” Kit said. “You would win if you were allowed to compete.”
    “Remind me why women can’t enter this competition?” I muttered.
    “It’s tradition. Anyway, thralls can’t compete either, male or female.” He looked apologetic, as though the rule was his fault.
    “She couldn’t win even if skinny girl thralls were allowed to compete,” a voice said behind us, the tone mocking.
    I turned my head and saw Tagatha leaning against the stone arch