Crown of Bones

by A. K. Wilder

  “My, you do, don’t you?”

  My head snaps up. She speaks in riddles, I think.

  “I’ll see you in the library, Ash?”

  “I look forward to it.”

  She heads down the stairs and out into the busy thoroughfare where I spot more savants with raised phantoms heading for the training field.

  I pocket the coin, wondering what kind of phantom Talus raises. Something powerful for sure, maybe even a warrior.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the foyer is nearly empty except for an orange-robed woman with a phantom walking beside her, a twin, if not for the blue skin and green hair. I follow at a distance, passing by reading nooks set up with window seats and study tables. Most are recently vacated, pillows in disarray, teacups drained, and only crumbs left on the plates.

  I hope the kitchen is still open.

  “Hurry then.”

  I run-walk the rest of the way to the dining hall only to hesitate at the wide-open doors. The sheer noise rattles me, with at least a hundred students gathered around tables, all eating and talking at once. There are a few phantoms up, too, some in meditative poses, some clearly standing guard. No one notices me, not yet, and suddenly I don’t want them to.

  “You’ve every right to be here.”

  Indeed. But my feet don’t budge.

  “Ash, you are the recorder to the Heir of Baiseen. All give way before us.”

  I stifle a laugh. All give way? It’s a ridiculous statement, but just the encouragement I need to enter the hall.

  And what a hall! It’s not just noisy but frantic as students seem blazes-bent on dispatching their food. Have they no manners? Some still line up to be served, but those in their seats shovel down fish, potatoes, and greens like there’s no tomorrow. And boisterous? Between mouthfuls, they talk to one another, and over one another, without pause. Where is the “midday silence” we observe in Baiseen?

  “Not here.”

  On tiptoe, I spot Piper and Samsen across the room, three rows up and one over. I weave my way to them. Samsen smiles, his mouth full. He looks a lot better than the last time I saw him. As a matter of fact, his fair hair positively shines. “Got all the mud out, I see.”

  “And you, too.” Samsen’s dressed in a quilted, yellow robe with the image of an albatross on the back. Quite fitting. “Sit down. The food is good.”

  He and Piper resume eating, but not frantically like the rest of the room. “What’s their rush?”

  “They have to be back at training by seventh bell,” Piper says, taking a leisurely drink from her cup. “Five minutes, by my count.”

  “I miss noonday silence,” I say, looking at the serving line.

  Samsen shrugs. “They forego it because the training here is so intensive. Students need to let the steam out, as they say.”

  “And they don’t have any other time to socialize,” Piper adds. “It’s all very competitive.”

  As I nod, a rush of air at the back of my neck distracts me. When I turn around, nothing stands out. “Where are Marcus and Belair?”

  “In the infirmary. Still sleeping.” Piper takes a bite of bread, smiles, and passes it to Samsen.

  My face falls. “Don’t they need to be at it now, if it’s so competitive?”

  “Their success depends on it. But they must recover on their own first. It’s protocol.”

  That’s news to me. “But what if they are injured here, while competing?”

  “I’m sure they will be, and healers will see to them, if there are breaks or cuts,” Piper says. “But a healer must not boost their stamina or endurance. That they have to gain on their own.” She stands. “Fish and tubers?”

  “Oh yes, thank you.”

  “Part of training is building strength with no help from elixirs or potions,” Samsen says as Piper heads for the serving line.

  It has thinned and there’s no wait. When she returns, I take my bowl, savoring each bite. Samsen’s right; the food is good.

  “My question to you, Ash,” Samsen goes on, “is why aren’t you in a little more hurry? You’re starting over with the recording, for both Marcus and Belair, right?”

  “I’ll catch up fast.” It’s the one thing I’m not worried about, however… “Do you think Marcus is all right? I mean, his phantom was so…” My voice drops away and I look down, concentrating on my food.

  “So savage on Mount Bladon?” Piper keeps her voice low as well.

  I nod. “It was the first time I saw it held to solid form.”

  “A shock, agreed,” Samsen says. “But he saved us from capture, torture, and likely death. The beast is a warrior, after all.”

  I agree but internally wonder, At what price to Marcus? He hunts, of course, but has never killed a man, until yesterday. Even recounting the incident with his father and the Aturnian spies seemed to make him feel sick. And then, on Mount Bladon, he tossed two dozen scouts off the path in half as many minutes. I shudder. “It’s not in his nature.”

  “I disagree,” Samsen says. “If it’s in the phantom, it’s in the savant.”

  “Smart boy, that Samsen.”

  “Don’t worry, Ash.” Piper pats my hand. “We’re safe on Aku, and he’ll have all the support and training he needs.”

  “If he passes,” Samsen says, a bit ominously.

  “Passes what?” All the focus was on getting to Aku and, now that we are here, I realize I’ve yet to be told what happens next.

  “The elimination trial. At the end of the first seven days is a culling. Some will be sent home, asked to return next year to try again.”

  “But next year is too late for Marcus.” Panicked, I make to rise, ready to sprint off to tell him.

  Samsen waves me down. “He’s been informed by now. And really, the elimination trial is more about potential than skill. Once he passes the first week, he trains for the duration. Then he’s awarded his yellow robes, or not.”

  I stare, my mouth open. “As recorder, I should have been aware of the elimination trials.”

  “And you are now.”

  I have an indignant retort ready but keep my mouth shut. It’s all part of the initiation…but I think the secrecy surrounding the process leaves a lot to be desired.

  “Finish your food,” Piper says. “They’re asleep. Healing.”

  Asleep, and falling behind, I think but don’t say that aloud. Instead, I ask the other thing pressing on my mind. “And Kaylin?” Heat rises to my cheeks. “Is he about?” A casual question, is all.

  Piper chuckles, seeing right through me. “They’ve given you a room together, haven’t they? For non-savants, as is customary?” Her smile says it all.

  Kaylin and I share a room? How did I miss that? “I’ve been sleeping, and I guess he’s been…” What has he been doing?

  “Fishing,” Samsen says. “I think our sailor’s uncomfortable around so many people.”

  “Around so many savants and their phantoms, you mean.” Piper plays with the buttons on her orange cuffs. “I’ve not seen him today.” She returns to her chat with Samsen, discussing their teaching schedule and then the advanced training they will undertake. I thought they would have some free time over the next few weeks but it doesn’t sound like it.

  When I finish my meal, I stand, ready to leave, noticing again I’m the only one in the hall not wearing savant robes. At the Sanctuary of Baiseen, there are plenty of us non-savants, but not here on Aku. No wonder Kaylin feels uncomfortable. I’m starting to myself.

  As I turn from the table, I nearly bump into an agahpa, a treelike phantom with branchy arms and legs. They are warriors, very tall, and this one’s leading the way in front of its green-robed savant. One of those endurance exercises, I guess. But as I step back, it hesitates, staring at me through black, knotty eyes. For a moment, I see a picture in my head of the savant going through
an obstacle course on the training field. The image is so clear, I shiver, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

  “Ash? Are you all right?”

  When I look up, both Samsen and Piper are frowning at me, faces creased.

  “It’s nothing. I just…I realized I have to ask for all new supplies.”

  And collect my wits. Because while I’d been unconvinced the mouse image from before actually came from Belair’s leopard, I’m nearly positive this phantom just spoke to me. Marcus said that’s how it can be for savants and their phantoms at first, pictures in the mind, a snippet of meaning, a word…

  I need to find Marcus and talk to him about this. “Where’s the infirmary?”

  Piper still looks concerned. “Out the front doors, left along the main boulevard, past the fountain, three doors down from the library tower.”

  “The building with the high arches,” Samsen adds. “You sure you’re fine?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I excuse myself and head for the door, but as I weave around the tables, past those still finishing their meals, I feel eyes watching my back. And not in a friendly way.

  30

  Ash

  I have every intent of rushing to see Marcus, but as I leave the hall and follow the main path, I come face-to-face with Aku’s sacred fountain, and it sweeps my breath away.

  Water mists my face as it falls from a great height, pouring in streams from the massive jugs held high by four, larger-than-life, savants. Folds of their robes seem to waft underwater, but the entire sculpture is bronze, so no telling the color. One thing is sure. There is joy on their faces and hope in their eyes. I feel it, too, just looking at them.

  In the center of the fountain, rising up from the savants, are four magnificent phantoms, a horse, an eagle, a wolf, and a stag. All lunge into the sky. Water tumbles from their mouths, hooves, wingtips, and antlers, raining down to the pool below. It’s spring fed, or so it says on the plaque, and fresh for all to fill their vessels. There is actually a list of the physical benefits from the trace elements of gold and copper. Below the brief history of its creation, and the artists involved, there is a single command.

  Make A Wish

  I stand, breathe in, and send the coin flipping end over end into the center of the pool. It disappears as I release my heart’s desire.

  Let me be better than any expect.

  “Lofty goal.” My inner voice seems impressed.

  I turn to go and suddenly catch a sharp glance from a pelican-like phantom. It swoops by, flying low, and before I can blink, my mind fills with a dizzying panorama of the island, a bird’s-eye view. I’m queasy from the undulating heights.

  What’s happening?

  “I think you know.”

  But I don’t, not entirely.

  I sit back down and close my lids. I need a moment.

  “You’ll see more with your eyes open, lass.”

  I smile but keep my eyes closed. “Is that what I’m doing wrong?”

  “You do nothing I would call wrong.” Kaylin sits beside me, close, but not so close we touch.

  “That’s because you don’t know me well enough.”

  He nudges my shoulder with his. “Nothing time won’t cure.”

  My heart does a little gallop as my eyes pop open. It’s a cure I wouldn’t mind waiting for.

  He’s in his usual garb, drawstring pants, open-necked shirt, bare feet. “You look…” Good, I almost say. His curly hair smells newly washed, and it dances across his face in the breeze. His eyes, in this light, are amber-green. The fountain’s mist leaves beads of water on his long, dark eyelashes…

  “Staring again…”

  I quickly pull my eyes away.

  “You were saying? I look…?” he prompts.

  “Clean,” I blurt.

  “Can you think of no better word?”

  Seems not.

  My breath catches when he leans in close. “Did you make a wish?”

  All I can do is nod. “And you?”

  “My wish was made days before we landed.” His eyes are warm and dancing.

  No. He doesn’t mean what I think, surely. “Wishing wells don’t work that way, silly.”

  “Silly?”

  Shut up!

  He laughs as if privy to my inner thoughts. “Have you seen Marcus and Belair?”

  “Not yet,” I say, gathering my composure. It’s like trying to put puppies back in a box. “I’m actually on my way to the infirmary to check on them.”

  “Allow me?” He’s on his feet, offering me his hands.

  I take them, but he doesn’t let go when I’m up. Instead, we just stand there, face-to-face, hand in hand, fountain mist dampening our cheeks. I have no idea what to say, but he doesn’t seem to mind and, as I allow myself to savor the warmth, I don’t mind one bit, either.

  And then, Kaylin lifts my hands to his lips and kisses them lightly, as if I were a lady of the court.

  My heart skips a beat or maybe ten, and my body shudders with a rush of feelings I can’t name. Bless the bones, I may pass out on the spot.

  He drops his gaze to my lips before raising his eyes to mine. It’s enough to heat me from the inside out. What is he thinking? Is he recalling our kiss? Because I am.

  Just when I think I’ll tremble apart, he nods toward the end of the street. “The infirmary is this way.”

  I may need the infirmary at this rate. The thought makes me giggle inside, and I’m afraid if I open my mouth to answer, one will escape. I smile with my lips closed to save myself the embarrassment. Finally, I say, “Lead on,” and manage to fall into step with him, one hand still tucked securely in his.

  “Lead on? That’s it? After such a gesture?”

  Good point. “Er…” I frantically glance around for something to comment on, but I’m still too flustered to form a coherent thought. “Nice arches,” I exclaim as we pass under them.

  “Nice…arches?” my inner voice repeats, incredulous.

  Help me, please!

  But all I hear within is a lighthearted chuckle.

  …

  I retrieve my hand as we trot up the infirmary steps, knowing it’s the only way I’ll be able to focus on my surroundings. So far, the infirmary is much like our healers’ hall at Baiseen, only smaller. They don’t have use for a larger one, the savant at reception says when she overhears me explaining this to Kaylin.

  “Not many serious injuries end up here,” the woman goes on. “The healers usually deal with them in the field.”

  “That’s handy.” I guess, because Aku is neutral to the realms, there’s no fear of attack, unlike the rest of us. The thought of the threat looming over Baiseen sends a cold jolt through my body. What if Gollnar is in league with Aturnia and war closer than we thought? Marcus’s father has leveraged so many sanctions against those realms their hatred for us grows exponentially. I witnessed it firsthand over the last few days. While Marcus and I believe in peace, we’ll need De’ral more than ever if we want to keep war from destroying our realm.

  “What you’ll need are more healers to clean up the mess.”

  My heart sinks at the thought of the Gollnar scouts, peace be their paths. Yes, they took us prisoner, but to see them all brutally killed in front of my eyes…

  “This way.” The woman shows us to the ward—a single room with three beds along each wall. Marcus and Belair, the only patients, are both fast asleep. I sit at the foot of Marcus’s bed. Kaylin leans against the far wall, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “They’ll be released this evening,” Tyche, the young orange-robe who met us on the training field yesterday, says softly as she enters the room. Her little impala is nowhere to be seen. I imagine even a highly trained phantom of that nature, particularly its spring-loaded hooves, is a liability indoors.

 
“Have they awakened at all?” I ask.

  “Long enough to fall straight back to sleep. They’re exhausted, even though your healer dealt directly with their wounds, they must regain strength on their own.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Who are you?” A woman with short, curly gray hair and a strict face enters the room, her orange robes flowing around her. “No non-savants with the patients.” She speaks in hushed tones, but the intention is clear. A large chameleon phantom follows her, nails clicking on the tile floor. It stops to change course and head toward me, until the orange-robe calls it back. Still, its protruding eyes watch as they rotate independent of each other. It’s unnerving. Kaylin straightens away from the wall, alert.

  “This is Ash, from the Heir’s party,” Tyche says quietly. “She’s their recorder.”

  “A non-savant?”

  Tyche shrugs and turns to me. “Let me present Bucheen, the master healer of Aku.”

  Bucheen nods briefly. “You can go. They’ll be along in a few hours.”

  “But I’m Marcus’s—” I almost say best friend. “His…”

  “Recorder. I heard, but non-savant, nonetheless.” She stares me up and down. “Have you finished recording the journey so far?”

  “Oh, no, mistress. There is much to do. The scrolls and notes were lost, and I haven’t even—”

  “Then you’re a recorder with no free time on her hands.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Off with you. And write fast before the Heir tries to influence your words.”

  My hackles go up. “Marcus wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  Bucheen waves the thought away. “If he is anything like his father, he would.” The healer’s eyes are lakes in winter—slate blue, cold, and impenetrable.

  I try to imagine the Magistrate as a young initiate and can’t until a perfect image of Jacas Adicio pops into my head, so like Marcus but with dark hair. He’s a green-robe with a wolf phantom by his side. The picture vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving me gasping in a breath. I rest my gaze on the chameleon. It cannot be.