Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  There were other, less known mystic faiths, but Aredel suspected many of those would only summon more darkness rather than banish what had already gathered.

  If he only knew the nature, the origin, of this darkness.

  Caught in a trap. Now that he had theorized Gyath might become immortal if he and Anadin died—if there was even the most remote chance of that—he couldn’t risk killing his brother and then himself. Which meant Jetekesh was right.

  We truly may be doomed.

  38

  Almost Dawn

  It must be nearing dawn by now.

  Jetekesh rolled over to check on Jinji, who lay beside him on the giant bed. Still sleeping, breathing deeper now. Good.

  All was quiet; all but the distant sea bells.

  Jetekesh sat up. He’d slept off the influence of several goblets of wine, and fear had returned to stab his insides like shards of ice. He shivered despite the warmth of the arid night.

  Aredel had left hours ago, probably to prowl the hall outside and keep Jinji safe. Or perhaps he’d gone to check on Father and the rest.

  Not all the rest. Not Tifen and Sir Palan.

  Tears pricked Jetekesh’s eyes. He batted at them. All he did anymore was cry, and what good did it do? He’d never realized just how weak he was until he was taken from Kavacos. Taken along with Jinji across Amantier, into Shinac, and out again into KryTeer. Never had he dreamed of anything so wondrous and so harrowing as this journey.

  His vision shimmered and tears burned his cheeks. Mother. Tifen. Sir Palan.

  He sat up and drew his knees to his chest. Sir Blayse too.

  Jetekesh had dreamed just now of Sharo. The fae prince had stood over a grave, eyes dark, shoulders hunched.

  Was that my fault too?

  A gentle hand fell on his back. He looked up and stared into the kind eyes of Jinji Wanderlust.

  “Be at peace, my friend,” whispered the storyteller. “Tifen and Palan are both far beyond the reach of tyrants or pain.”

  “I…killed them…” The words scoured his tongue. The tears fell faster.

  “Not so, not so,” murmured Jinji. “Gyath is the man to blame for their deaths. Do not rob him of reproach, my prince.”

  Jetekesh unfolded himself and leaned against Jinji’s shoulder. “What can we do, Jinji? Gyath will kill us all—and if we kill him first, Aredel will be possessed by that terrible darkness. I can’t imagine the horrors he would do under that influence.”

  Jinji’s fingers stroked Jetekesh’s hair. “Do not fear or fret, Prince. The vapors of night cannot long withstand the call of day. What shadow could conquer the sun?”

  Jetekesh stirred and looked up into Jinji’s face. The light was back in his eyes, burning like a candle’s flame.

  Anger stabbed Jetekesh like a dagger through his ribs. He recoiled from Jinji. “You dare try to soothe my fears, but you don’t understand them! How could you? You’re dying. You don’t care what happens to us. You want death! You welcome it! I—I hate you! I hate that you want to leave us behind. You’d rather die than stay. I hate you!”

  Jinji stared at him, lips parted. His brow creased and he bowed his head. “Your words are just, my friend. You have great cause to hate me. Five years ago, I cursed this world for my pain—and since that time, I have watched that curse give birth to terrible acts and unmentionable cruelty. Prince Aredel took it upon himself to carry my curse to every country upon this continent and in lands beyond the sea. The tragedy of Amantier, of Shing, the horrors in Tivalt…all are due to my hateful cry for justice. I should be despised above all other creatures…”

  Jetekesh gaped at the storyteller. The man thought he was responsible for the actions of Gyath and Aredel? For the witch-hunts in Tivalt? The fall of Amantier? Hypocrite! Hadn’t he just told Jetekesh not to rob from Gyath’s reproach? Hadn’t Mother made the choice to sell out her country? And Aredel acted under the banner of Gyath—not to avenge Jinji’s wrongs. Surely Aredel knew Jinji would resent world conquest; and if at first he did act in Jinji’s name, later he must have come to recognize the man’s nature.

  Jetekesh opened his mouth, but his words strangled in his throat.

  He won’t listen to reason. He has a martyr’s spirit.

  But he also harbors the soul of Shinac.

  “You’re right,” said Jetekesh. “This is your fault. Everyone is dead because of you. Nakania will fall into chaos and ruin. You called this curse upon the world, and now you’re running away at the most crucial moment. Your cry for justice woke the darkness within Gyath, and that creature is now going to swallow everyone—me, Aredel, Rille, Sir Yeshton—we’re all going to become that darkness. Unless…” He paused until Jinji’s eyes lifted from his wringing hands. “Unless you do something to remedy what you’ve begun.”

  The storyteller shuddered. His eyes flickered. “What can I—”

  “You told me there is still hope. You said the sun conquers the shadow. You tell me what can be done. What you can do. Because otherwise this world will end, Jinji Wanderlust, and it will be upon your soul.”

  A sob broke from Jinji’s lips, and he bowed into his hands. “Ancient kings of Shinac, guide me!”

  Jetekesh looked away, limbs quivering. Face flushed. His stomach writhed. What if he had pushed too hard? Jinji was so weak…

  His sobs fell away.

  Jetekesh jerked his head back around.

  The storyteller knelt upon the bed, hands in his lap, gaze riveted on the door across the chamber. “Jetekesh.” His voice cracked. “Will you please aid me? I know that I am a burden, and you may refuse—”

  The prince scowled. “Oh, be silent, Jinji. Of course I’ll help you.” He wrapped Jinji’s arm around his shoulders and pulled him from the bed. “Where are we going?”

  “To Gyath. We must end this now.”

  39

  Between Two Pillars

  Most of the revelers slept on the floor. A few worthy souls swayed on their feet near tables laden with remnants of food and drink, singing rowdy songs in the tongue of KryTeer. Yeshton didn’t need to know the words. Drinking songs were all the same; boundaries never mattered.

  Prince Aredel stood sentinel nearby, sober, and solemn, eyes fixed on Gyath’s throne, where the fat emperor whispered to a blushing dancer seated upon his expansive lap.

  Rille and Anadin had fallen asleep hours ago, heads propped on each other, bodies slumped against a pillar. King Jetekesh sat close to them, cross-legged. Awake. He’d refused to sleep when Aredel suggested it. Kyella sat beside the king of Amantier, half asleep, eyes glazed over.

  Yeshton turned to the Blood Prince. “Will Jinji and Prince Jetekesh be safe by themselves?”

  Aredel arched an eyebrow. “I sent Shevek and Ledonn back to guard them. I will be alerted should anything happen.”

  Yeshton wanted to ask if anything would happen, but he held his tongue. The night was almost over; just an hour or so left until dawn, unless Yeshton had misjudged the passage of time. It was possible, for though his mind could tally the hours, his soul felt a hundred years older, like this night was lost to the annals of time.

  Aredel’s eyes darted toward any sound, hand draped over his curved sword. Yeshton could feel his tension like a mist rising from his body. It was all that kept Yeshton awake; if the Blood Prince was ready for anything, he must be ready too.

  It would conclude before dawn.

  The thought wasn’t Yeshton’s own. No one spoke it. It was an impression, thick as fog, suspended upon the air. When would the fog part to reveal the spell that had conjured it like a player’s curtain? Could he fend against the threat, or was the unknown, creeping thing born of supernatural power? He was a mere soldier; how could he battle against magic? How could he protect Rille?

  Servants wrapped in turbans entered the throne room, carrying candles to relight the snuffed-out lamps. Yeshton watched them, his hand itching to hold a blade. If only he’d been able to claim Tifen’s knife from the floor before the guards c
onfiscated it.

  Yeshton bowed his head. He’d come to respect Tifen on their journey together. And Sir Palan, his childhood hero and benefactor, had fallen in the halls of KryTeer.

  The soldier’s heart lurched, and he willed his mind to flee from pain, from regret. This was a battlefield, no matter how strange; there would be time to grieve the fallen later.

  A commanding voice called out behind Yeshton in the KryTeer tongue.

  He spun. So did Aredel.

  Jinji stood in the center of the long chamber, supported by Jetekesh, flanked by Ledonn and Shevek. The man from Shing was pale, thin as a reed. His hair was completely white. But his eyes, always light-filled, shone now like jewels. He took a step away from Jetekesh, wobbled, but steadied himself and strode forward. His movement was graceful and firm like a king’s strong steps. His stance, erect and commanding.

  Not a fox or a mouse. Not a horse either. He’s something else. Something ethereal. Awe coursed through Yeshton’s frame like a warm spring breeze. He felt that he stood not on marble, but soft grass. He breathed in and tasted sweet air.

  Jinji’s eyes lifted to the throne high above him. He opened his mouth and spoke. The words were foreign to Yeshton, like Shingese or KryTeeran speech, though separate; yet he understood what Jinji said.

  “In the name of Shinac’s rightful king, by the grace of the fae, through the strength of brave Cavalin, I stand before thee, Gyath of KryTeer, and denounce thee.”

  Gyath laughed and pushed the dancing girl from his lap. She stumbled down the steps and fled into the shadows of the room. The emperor lifted himself from his throne and raised his many chins to look down his nose at Jinji, grinning.

  “You denounce me, my son?” He laughed again. “Should this wound me, pray tell? Have I lost my title by your words? O great tale-weaver, spare me this hurtful action!” He threw his head back and roared until the lamps swayed. The drunken revelers stirred and climbed to their feet, already laughing, though they didn’t understand their emperor’s amusement.

  Yeshton stared at Jinji. What was he doing? He stood before the tyrant—fearless, it was true; but what power could he wield against Gyath’s strength? A glance at Aredel told him nothing. The Blood Prince crouched like a tiger prepared to pounce upon its prey. But he waited, watchful, eyes narrowed.

  A small hand slipped between Yeshton’s fingers. He started. Looked down to find Rille. She smiled grimly, then turned her attention to Jinji.

  Prince Jetekesh had followed the storyteller and stood behind him.

  Yeshton glanced back and found King Jetekesh upon his feet, his gaze lighted on his son. Waiting. Quiet. Kyella had risen with him, mesmerized by Jinji.

  Anadin alone slept on, oblivious to the exchange that would likely be the death of all.

  Come now, Yesh. Have you so little faith in this man? Has he not proved himself wise?

  But Jinji was dying. He was in pain. Perhaps this was his answer: execution would be the end of his suffering.

  No. He wouldn’t do that to the rest of us. He’s too selfless for that.

  What then did Jinji intend to do?

  “Watch,” whispered Rille.

  Jinji stood against the emperor’s laughter, a man of slight frame, powerless, dying. He had no titles, no claims, no prestige. Yet Yeshton saw now a man who might have been a prince. He was regal enough, graceful, even kind, as a benevolent ruler ought to be. All these things Yeshton had always admired in King Jetekesh and Duke Lunorr.

  In another life he might have been emperor of KryTeer. Or the ruler of Shing.

  But he’s just a shepherd.

  Jinji’s voice carried above the mirth of Gyath’s court. “I have no power to stop you, Gyath. I cannot take your title, nor can I destroy the darkness that abides within you.” He raised his hand, as though he beckoned to the emperor. “If only you had chosen not to feed the darkness. Not to let it grow. It would not have consumed you without your consent; and thus, I know that you will not be spared.”

  “Ooh.” Gyath rumbled a laugh. “You frighten me so, my son. What shall you unleash upon me? The Unsielie of Shinac? Do not forget, they once sided with my forebear!”

  Jinji’s eyes flashed. “I do not forget, Gyath. I see true! It is you who have forgotten: it is not darkness which defeats itself, but light. Behold!” His hand lifted. “Sharo, son of light, prince of woods and fields, protector of the fae, I beseech thy help!”

  A humming note struck across the chamber like harp song, and the air split with a burst of light. White sands spiraled up from that great crack to form two pillars.

  As the light dimmed, from between the two pillars stepped a tall, ethereal man. Chains twinkled against his wrists and trailed back into the space beyond the pillars, connecting him to what lay beyond. Long white hair tumbled down his back. He was dressed in silvery-blue cloth of rich embroidery; and he held in his hands a broadsword of magnificent workmanship, gold, bronze, silver metal twining up the hilt, while the blade shone unblemished.

  Yeshton knew him: Prince Sharo of Shinac, last of the true line of fae kings, cousin to the lost prince.

  Trembling, Yeshton sank to his knees, but he couldn’t lower his eyes.

  “Gyath of KryTeer,” called Prince Sharo in clear, commanding tones. “By the song of the fae, by the light of the sun, I purge thee of thy plague. Begone, Erisyrdrel. Return to the depths and to thy slumber and wake no more until thy last stand against thy foe, Lord Ehrikai, True King of Shinac!” Sharo bounded impossibly high, blade flashing.

  Gyath bellowed and drew his sword. Swung. It struck air, and he stumbled. Sharo’s sword plunged into Gyath’s chest.

  Silence.

  Sharo wrenched the sword free. Gyath gurgled and slumped back in his throne. His eyes stared heavenward, and a vapor of black sand rose in writhing particles from his lips.

  “I said begone!” cried Sharo, and his sword burst into white flames. He swung it. The black sands hissed and contorted until they formed a vortex and shot up and out through a high window.

  “Imposs…ible…” gasped the emperor. His head dropped. His body slackened. Sharo turned from the throne and jumped down to the floor below. He wiped his blade with the hem of his silver cape and sheathed the sword.

  Yeshton caught movement from the corner of his eye.

  The Blood Prince raced to the throne, climbed the steps, and tore the circlet crown from Gyath’s head. He turned to face the chamber, hefted the crown, and placed it upon his own brow. “I am Emperor of KryTeer! All my subjects will bow!”

  His voice thundered through the throne room, and all the KryTeerans slumped to their knees, eyes darting between their new ruler and the fae prince of Shinac whose chains sparkled in the growing light of dawn.

  A shiver rushed down Yeshton’s spine. “Has Prince Aredel been possessed?” he whispered.

  “No, Sir Knight,” said Rille. “The shadow from the sea is banished. Aredel is acting before Anadin can be executed as the spare. I hope it will work…”

  “Sharo!” Prince Jetekesh ran forward, incognizant of everyone else.

  The fae prince lifted his hands. “Jetekesh, my friend.” He clasped the boy’s arms and smiled. “How good to see you once more in the flesh. How fare you?”

  “I…I’m all right. Is the darkness gone? Did you truly banish it?”

  Sharo’s smile flickered. “For the time being. I have not the power to destroy it, but it will be long beyond your lifespan before it stirs again, spirits willing.” He lifted his eyes. “Jinji.”

  Jetekesh turned around. Yeshton followed his gaze and found the storyteller kneeling on the ground, shoulders slumped. White hair hung in his face and his breath came in gasps.

  Prince Sharo stepped across the marble floor and crouched before the man from Shing. He murmured too softly for Yeshton to hear.

  Jinji raised his head. His smile was radiant.

  “I have done all that a man can do,” he said in a voice stronger than it should be. He shut his ey
es and tumbled forward.

  40

  The Man from Shing

  The white sands sparkled under the light of the ancient moon.

  Jetekesh stood shivering in a blanket, but the cold didn’t matter. His vision swam. A flute played nearby, soft and sorrowful.

  That didn’t feel right. Jinji would want something full of life, not death.

  Warmth tickled his arm. He glanced left to find Aredel beside him. The new emperor of KryTeer.

  King. He’s just a king now.

  Aredel had relinquished all the lands he had conquered during Gyath’s reign. It had been a simple, irrevocable decree; his second, following the abolishment of the law that would have claimed Anadin’s life. No one had disputed the orders of the Blood Prince. No one ever did.

  The journey back to the Drifting Sands had taken over a week to start, for Aredel first had to solidify his reign. A purging of the palace had begun at once, and the former Blood Prince appeared to relish it. Perhaps it was his way of coping with Jinji’s death.

  Jetekesh’s lungs pinched. His heart recoiled. Jinji.

  The storyteller gave the last of his strength to summon Sharo to Nakania from the country of magic. As he took his final breath, the fae prince had disappeared, along with the white sands and the gaping crack of light.

  I’ll never see either of them again.

  The thought was unbearable. Jetekesh wanted to rail against it, to scream until it wasn’t true. But Nakania was not a world of magic, and the last shard of it had been taken with Jinji of Shing. Even Rille said so. She had assured Jetekesh and Yeshton that her gift to See had departed with Jinji’s soul.

  It wasn’t fair. Not any of it.

  He drew a shuddering breath. Blinked back tears. Stared at the plain coffin Aredel had constructed with his own hands. Jetekesh understood why he’d done so. Jinji wouldn’t want ornate decoration or fanfare.