Crown of Bones

by A. K. Wilder

  My mind spins. But there is no time to pause or think. He’s right. Now the real test begins.

  I vaguely see my way up the street, past the main courtyard. I catch a glimpse of the treasured fountain of Aku. It’s larger than I imagined, a mist of cool water hitting my face, even from this distance away. No time to toss a coin now, but I do wish to reach the training field without passing out.

  Cheers continue to well up, a choir of joy that seems almost out of place given all I’ve seen and done to get here. It’s hard to imagine this joyous peace after all the violence we’ve faced. Faces smile and hands reach out to pat me as I stagger past. We’re so tightly packed, it’s the jostle and closeness of bodies that helps to keep me on my feet. Orange- and yellow-robes flow around us, guiding the way. I’m not sure if they know who we are, but clearly, they’re glad we made it, the last of the initiates to arrive.

  “Never seen it cut so close, lad.” One claps me on the back and laughs. “Half a second to spare.”

  An orange-robe woman reaches up and roughs my hair. “That old wolf Adicio will be proud of this day.”

  I smile and keep stumbling forward. I guess they do know who I am.

  We make it to the training field where dozens of green-robe candidates wait. They are clean, showered, shaved, bright robes wafting in the breeze. They stand with hands behind their backs, calm and easy. Belair and I, on the other hand… We stagger into line at the end, swaying like drunken sailors, lungs pumping in and out with each breath, filthy faces dripping with sweat, and our many wounds welling with fresh blood.

  Several instructors give speeches—short ones, thank the skies—followed by cheers and applause. I hope Ash is taking notes because my head is swimming. I have no idea what’s being said. The only way I stay upright is by bracing my hands on my knees. Belair has collapsed altogether. I look at Piper, who beams me an exhausted smile. I guess she’s not that worried at this point. When the assembly breaks up, I straighten. “What now, recorder?” My heart throbs in my neck.

  “Weren’t you listening?”

  “I was too busy trying to breathe.”

  She looks no better than the others, save that her smile is the brightest. “An orange-robe will come assign you to your bunks and explain the roster.”

  “There’s a roster?” Belair groans from the ground.

  “Oh yes, and it’s not to be taken lightly.” Samsen has recovered quickest from our run to the gates—well, quickest, if you exclude Kaylin. He never worked up a sweat. I give the training field a sweep and turn toward the cobbled courtyard in front of the temple steps.

  “Now, we’ve made it.” Ash takes her place between me and Belair, the proper position for our journey recorder. “Safe on Aku, at last,” she says softly. “Steady now. Here she comes.”

  As my eyes focus, I realize the savant approaching is a child.

  “Young for an orange-robe,” Ash whispers. “But an orange-robe nonetheless.”

  “Well…” I choke. My voice is hoarse. “Well met,” I try again, hoping not to scare the girl. Beside me, Belair staggers to his feet and croaks out the same.

  “Well met.” Her voice is light, as if ready to laugh. I think she’s all of ten. Her long black hair is kept in a single braid, unadorned. Her round cheeks dimple when she smiles, which seems her constant expression when looking at me and Belair. Beside her is an equally composed phantom in the form of an impala. It has large, round eyes, floppy ears, and an incredibly long, slender neck. Its tiny cloven hooves tap an even rhythm on the ground. Behind her are two yellow-robes, hoods up. I can’t see their faces.

  “I’m Tyche.” When I hesitate, still catching my breath, she pronounces it slowly, as if I’m thick. “TIE-key.”

  I clear my throat. “Tyche, please forgive our appearances.” I use my most formal manner. “I am Marcus Adicio from the realm of Palrio, son of the Magistrate, Jacas Adicio, green-robe to a warrior phantom and Heir to the throne of Baiseen. My companion savants are—” I open out my arm and nearly lose my footing. Ash catches me, and I continue as if I hadn’t almost fallen. “Samsen and Piper, yellow- and orange-robes, returning to Aku for the second and third time, also of Baiseen, and Belair Duquan from Pandom City in Tangeen, also green-robe to a warrior phantom. We’ve been—”

  Belair drops to his knees and throws up.

  “…drinking?” Tyche asks with a giggle.

  Ash steps in. “I assure you, Tyche,” she says, also speaking in formal Palrion. “There has been no drinking on this journey, but we did nearly drown in the Ferus River, among other calamities. Our travels have not been smooth.”

  “It’s true,” I say. “Please allow me to introduce to you Ash, my recorder, wordsmith of Baiseen, ward of High Savant Brogal.”

  “Robe?”

  I hesitate. “Non-savant.”

  Tyche’s brows jump. I can tell it’s the first surprising thing I’ve said to her. But the impala leans forward, stretching its long neck out to Ash as if I’d introduced her to it specifically. I can imagine Ash will cause a stir with so many phantoms about. Like bees to honey they have always been with her.

  Tyche clicks her tongue, calling her phantom back, her eyes wide. “I see the journey was hard for you.” The girl keeps her hand on her phantom, who tries to inch toward Ash again.

  “Excessively so, with little food or sleep for days. We lost our horses, travel documents, and most of our personal effects. The only thing I have to assure you of my claim is this.” I pull my medallion from around my neck and show it to the girl. Ash gives a relieved sigh, and I nod a thanks to Kaylin, who fished it from the bottom of the river for me.

  Tyche examines our family seal and dips her head.

  “Marcus Adicio, welcome, and you as well, Belair Duquan.” She claps her hands and the graceful phantom turns to her. Together they chant in clear, high-pitched voices. A moment later, she faces me again. “I’ve called the master healer. She may want you two in the infirmary.”

  “Unnecessary.”

  “Really?” She points to my chest. “You’re bleeding, and so is Belair.” She looks to Piper as if she’s not been doing her job, then turns to the rest of my company. “There are guest rooms for you all.” She glances at Ash. “One non-savant?”

  “Two,” Kaylin and Ash say at the same time.

  Which reminds me, why is he still here?

  We wouldn’t be, without him. De’ral rumbles in the depths.

  “True.”

  “This is Kaylin of Tutapa, our guide,” Ash continues when I don’t introduce him.

  “Well met.” Tyche grins. “My grandmother will want a word with you. She’s quite fond of Tutapan cuisine.”

  I close my eyes while arrangements are made for everyone’s lodging. Their voices blur into the background, and for a moment, I think I’ll pass out. The steady pain in my head blooms brighter, while my phantom strength retreats like water down a drain. I jolt awake when the impala bleats at Ash, springs into the air, and bounds away, leaping and jumping through the crowd.

  Tyche opens her arms. “On behalf of the High Savant of Aku, welcome. May your path here be successful.”

  As I’m led away, Tyche directs Kaylin and Ash toward the main temple. “You’ll have quarters there, and the librarian will be alerted to accommodate you. I imagine you have much to record.”

  “Indeed, thank you.” Ash smiles. “See you at supper, Marcus, Belair.”

  I’ve never heard her sound happier. Why not? She’s one of the few non-savants to make it to these sacred halls of training. I’m just as happy for her as I am for myself. Or I would be, if I had any energy to feel happiness.

  My lids close as we walk to the infirmary. My main wish is that it’s not far, and I’m sure Belair feels the same. When we climb the steps and stop at the door, Tyche leans toward me before they take us in. “My grandmother worried you�
�d never hold your phantom to form, Marcus Adicio. We can’t wait to see what took you so long.”

  I let out a groan. “Your grandmother?”

  “Yuki, the High Savant of Aku.”

  29

  Ash

  The sound of the ocean lulls me as I float in a current of dreams, weightless, guileless, until the tide pulls me under. I thrash and flail, crying out for help as water pours down my throat, filling my lungs. I’m sinking deeper and deeper.

  “Ash, wake up.”

  My eyes fly open and I gulp in a breath.

  “You’re safe.” Piper leans over me, holding my arms. “You’re in Aku.”

  I search her face, my heart pounding. A few more breaths and the nightmare slips down a dark hole, leaving only gurgling shadows behind. It is no wonder my sleep is haunted. Any one of the dozens of horrors that befell us on the way to Aku could be to blame.

  “That was a bad one,” Piper says, pushing her shiny black braids out of her face. They’ve been redone and are now secured with tiny orange beads that match her robes. She looks rested and as beautiful as ever.

  “Marcus?” Fear floods my veins again.

  “He’s fine. Belair, too.”

  “But I have to record the—”

  “They haven’t started yet.”

  I expel a deep breath. Piper sits back on the other bed, adjusting the colorful pillows as if returning to her spot. The room is sunny and warm and the air smells sweet in a wintery way, like cinnamon apple pie baking in the kitchen. Gulls cry outside the large window. There are no treetops or branches to see—only pale blue sky and starch-white clouds.

  “Samsen?” I stretch and yawn, forming my next question before she answers. And Kaylin? Where is he?

  “Samsen’s in the dining hall. Waiting for us.”

  I nod my head, not quite able to ask about Kaylin. I’ll know soon enough if he’s still here.

  I try to remember going to bed. We were shown to our rooms, stripped out of filthy clothes, given towels and led to the most extraordinary communal bath. I touch my hair. It feels smooth and silky and smells of rosewater. At least that wasn’t a dream. I remember being massaged, too, my cuts and scrapes treated. There was a large meal as well. “I think I fell asleep after dinner.”

  “You did, and it’s now lunchtime the next day.”

  “I’ve been out that long?”

  Piper nods.

  I throw back the covers. “Toilet?”

  “You have your own. Through that door.” Piper hands me a dressing gown made of a soft, quilted fabric and I slip it on over my underthings.

  “Thank you.”

  The gown is black with a magnificent blue peacock embroidered on the back. I tie the belt. “I won’t be long.”

  A bell tolls three times and Piper calls out, “You missed morning ritual.”

  “Morning what?” I say from the toilet.

  “Morning ritual. Everyone meets on the training field at first bell, and I mean everyone, from the High Savant to the groundskeeper’s youngest child.”

  “For?”

  “A moment’s meditation followed by what they call dynamics.”

  “Sounds like exercise.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. It makes my physical defense class look like a catnap.” Piper gives a little laugh. “Samsen and I wanted to give a little warning on what to expect…but other things got in the way.”

  “Didn’t they just?” I grumble.

  Piper grins. “Meet us in the dining hall when you’re dressed. I’ll save you a place.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Downstairs, west wing. Follow the aromas. There is much to discuss.”

  I find my travel clothes clean and folded on top of a chest at the foot of my bed. Next to them is a pale turquoise top made of the same quilted fabric as the robe, only more tailored. I hold it up to the full-length mirror. It’s beautiful. The hem falls below my knees, covering the black drawstring pants that go with it. It must be what non-savant wordsmiths wear on Aku. I dress, but just as I pull the top over my head, I hear a loud tap at the window. Quickly shoving arms into sleeves, I turn to face it. “Hello?” Is someone in the room? I look behind. “Kaylin?”

  From the corner of my eye, I catch a shadow outside. On instinct, I freeze. “Who’s there?” Inside me pressure rises in waves, welling from my feet to the top of my head. My fists ball and raise as a shadow moves across the sill. A second later, it disappears.

  It takes a full minute before I can relax my hands to open the side pane and look out. I catch a faint scent. Unidentifiable, but a bit musty.

  Two stories below is a narrow lane, empty save for an unhitched wagon and some garbage bins. Along one side is a wooden fence weighed down with honeysuckle vines. The leaves are late autumn gold. The trumpet-shaped flowers give off a sticky, sweet fragrance.

  My forehead prickles with sweat. No one could climb the wall. It’s flagstone, a dark red, hard-textured rock bonded in place with mortar. The window ledge is narrow and covered with bird droppings.

  Am I imagining things?

  My inner voice doesn’t answer.

  It’s another moment before I can close and lock the window and go to brush out my hair, putting it in a ponytail. Most of it stays in place. The clothes fit perfectly. It’s a new look for me, and I like it. The cuffs are narrow and held together with tiny hooks and eyes. They can be rolled up or left down—either way, they won’t interfere with the business of scribing.

  “The records,” I say to myself in the mirror. I have to catch up. But first, breakfast, or rather, lunch. Next to the door, I find my boots, clean and dry. I slip them on and go in search of the dining hall.

  The stairs run along a two-story-high wall decorated with murals. I want to breathe it all in, but I’m too close to the images to appreciate the full scope. Still, there are large cresting waves, the peaks taking the shape of swooping eagles, galloping horses, and leaping wolves. The smaller waves look like snowcapped hills, and in the background, tall ships sail past. The masts are hidden in the spray and clouds, but I can see a hint of black sail. Is that possible? The thought gives me shivers but stare as I might, I can’t be sure.

  And then I momentarily forget all else as I spot Aku’s first whistle bone hanging above the mural. They call it the Crown of Er—one of the original twelve whistle bones from the skeleton of King Er, as the story goes. It’s carved from the jaw and represents the first lot or “way” to An’awntia: strength in oneself alone. On it is etched a ram with long, curved horns, symbolizing the urge to charge forward into life. Stake one’s claim. Stand one’s ground. I take a deep breath and sigh.

  “Powerful, isn’t it?”

  Oh yes.

  I keep going until the stairwell joins another coming from the opposite end of the hall. They merge like a forked stream and spiral down to the portico below. With a hand resting lightly on the railing, I pause to take in the view.

  The foyer ceiling towers high above my head. On one side, pillars hold up open archways with steps leading down to the main street. The trees lining it are bare, but I imagine the blossoms in spring. Savants stride into the building from the street, all in their colored robes. So many of them. And phantoms, too. It’s like a festival down there!

  A woman in yellow robes hurries up the steps. She’s leading the way for two young green-robed students. One is a girl with her phantom up. It’s in the form of a sprite—short legs, pointy ears, and a very large grin. Behind her is a pale-haired, pale-skinned boy. No phantom, but wait! On second glance, I see it, hovering like a shadow, undulating around the folds of his robe, emanating sparks of blue light.

  I’m still marveling at the sights when out from the hall strides another green-robe boy carrying a satchel full of books. Beside him is a strange green mist that ripples in and out of every sha
pe it touches, an alter for sure. One moment it’s a stair step, then a banister, then a perfect replica of an orange-robe master heading in the other direction. Trotting behind the master is a doglike phantom that barks at the mist. A caller, I’m guessing. Too small for a warrior and it has quite strong vocals.

  This is spectacular.

  “Look up,” my inner voice warns.

  I do, and find myself gazing into the keen eyes of an elderly woman standing several steps above me. She wears a white robe with black trim on the hem and cuffs. It’s quilted and close-fitting, with a flare from the waist to the floor. Her hair is white, and her handsome face crinkles as she smiles.

  “Good day.” I make a curtsy. “I’m newly arrived to Aku,” I add when she doesn’t speak.

  “Are you surprised by what you see?” She nods to the savants and phantoms passing below us.

  “I must say, I’m impressed. Such a mix of robes, and even the young ones keeping their phantoms up, for a time at least.” She pauses so long I add, “Being non-savant myself…”

  “Nonsense,” she says with a grin and steps down to my level. “We find on the Isle of Aku, the students learn best by keeping their phantoms up for longer and longer periods of time.” She opens her arm to another group of students passing below. “Builds endurance.”

  “You won’t want to do that with Marcus Adicio, I promise.” I hold my hand out to the odd woman. “I’m Ash, wordsmith and recorder for the Heir of Baiseen, and also for Belair Duquan of Tangeen.”

  “You may call me Talus. Welcome to the Sanctuary of Aku.”

  Her hand feels quite cool to the touch. Talus? The name is familiar, but I can’t place it. The only thing I know for certain is that this woman could be a savant of the highest order. When she speaks, it’s like all of Aku belongs to her.

  “Talus.” I dip my head. “It is an honor to meet you.”

  Talus chuckles. “You might like this, for the fountain.” She offers me a large coin of burnished copper.

  “Thank you!” I stand for far too long, simply admiring it. Everyone knows about the ritual of students making a wish at Aku’s sacred fountain. I didn’t know non-savants could as well. “I do have a wish or two in me.”