The Stone Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 3)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Why was he worried about her opinion, anyway? It wasn’t like she’d spare any thoughts for him today. She was way too busy trying to become some sort of badass, emotionless leader. After her brief foray into having fun, her walls would surely be back up this morning.

  Which was a good thing.

  Really.

  A sharp knock sounded. Krey crossed the room and opened the door. Nora, Zeisha, Kebi, Sarza, and Joli stood there, all clad in pajamas.

  “It’s Sunday,” Krey said. He hadn’t expected anyone else to get up for at least an hour.

  “I had a vision,” Sarza said. “I wanted to tell all of you about it at once.”

  Krey’s eyes widened. “Come in.” He opened the shutters and returned to his desk chair. Sarza took the second chair, and Joli sat on the bed. Nora, Zeisha, and Kebi settled on throw rugs on the floor.

  “Someone needs to go to the chapel at the palace,” Sarza said.

  Nora’s brows drew together. “It’s covered by the dome. No one can get in there.”

  Sarza shrugged. “There’s a way. We just have to figure it out.”

  “Who should go?” Kebi asked.

  “I don’t know.” Sarza briefly rubbed her temple, like she was in pain. “The figure in the vision was fuzzy. I think that means we can decide ourselves.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Krey said. “Someone needs to visit the chapel at the palace. Only it’s totally inaccessible, and we don’t know who should go.”

  Sarza shrugged. “You got it. And I don’t think we should tell anyone outside this group, so it needs to be one of us.”

  “Do you know why we’re supposed to go there?” Nora asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Krey looked around the group, seeing on their faces the same grogginess, excitement, and confusion he felt. “What do you think, Nora?”

  She sat up straighter. “I trust Sarza. That means we need to figure out how to sneak one of us into a stone dome. Who has ideas?” Her eyes, though sleepy, were hard and focused. Back to business for the crown princess.

  “It’s too bad we can’t tunnel under the dome,” Joli said. One of the militia’s dirt eaters had tried just that a couple of weeks earlier. He’d found that the stone extended underground, all the way to the bedrock.

  Krey said, “We need to convince the emissary at the chapel to let someone in.”

  “Whatever story we tell will have to be good enough for my father too,” Nora said. “The rebels in Cellerin City told Hatlin that no one can enter the dome without the king’s permission. The good news is, my father worships almost every day. If anyone can convince him of anything, it’s his own personal emissary.” She said the final phrase with a sneer.

  “What does the king want?” Zeisha asked.

  Nora turned to her. “What do you mean?”

  “What does your father want more than anything in the world? If we have to convince him of something, we need to know what motivates him.”

  Nora bit her lip. After a time, she spoke. “I almost said power. But he already has that. He’s afraid of losing it . . . of losing everything. What he wants most is to feel safe. That’s why his army is occupying both New Therro and Cellerin City. He wants to be sure no one will challenge him. And he clearly built the dome to protect himself and his power.”

  Krey nodded. “You convinced him to leave Deroga by telling him Zeisha would tear apart his palace and his land. He couldn’t stand the thought of being vulnerable.”

  “Ever since my mother died, he’s dreaded the unexpected. He tries to mitigate every possible risk. It’s why he’s a brain lyster. Letting people think for themselves is too risky.”

  Krey nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Nora. She’d lost both her parents—one to death, one to madness. But right now, her jaw was set against any pain she might feel.

  Zeisha said, “We need to convince your father that letting someone into the chapel will make him safer.”

  Ideas flew around the room. Some were promising enough to discuss in depth, but nothing seemed quite feasible.

  After perhaps an hour, Joli broke a lull in the conversation by saying, “I think we’re making this too complicated. Would your father ever let a pilgrim visit the chapel?”

  “I doubt it,” Nora said. “It’s been closed to visitors since the dome went up.”

  Silence fell again. Krey’s knee bounced up and down as he considered Joli’s suggestion. Finally, he turned to Nora. “It’ll have to be just the right pilgrim.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s currently ruling his nation through fear. Surely he realizes it would be better if people actually wanted to be loyal to him. Do you think admiration would make him feel more secure in his power?”

  “Maybe,” Nora said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Well, he’s pretty proud of his position as the keeper of the stone, right?”

  “Proud isn’t a strong enough term,” Nora said with a short laugh.

  “So we send in someone who’s in awe of the stone. Someone who admires him because he’s protected it for so long. A pilgrim, like Joli said. But it can’t be just anyone. We need to also offer him another type of security—an alliance with another country.”

  Nora tilted her head. “Keep going.”

  “One of you—someone the king has never met, of course—can reach out to the emissary, claiming to be Rimorian clergy from a neighboring nation. You’ll say you’re on a pilgrimage, and not only do you hope to see the stone; you’ve also been instructed by your nation’s leaders to establish a religious alliance, hoping it’ll lead to a political one.”

  “We’d have to choose a country we’re not already allies with,” Nora said. “That rules out Cruine, Lerenor, and Banth.”

  “What about Newland?” Krey asked.

  Zeisha shook her head. “The Rimorian religion is outlawed there, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Newland’s so-called prime minister was really an autocratic dictator.

  Nora said, “Only one nation makes sense—Rimoria.” It was a large nation hundreds of clommets southwest of Cellerin. The large Therro Desert separated the countries.

  “That’s perfect,” Joli said. “It’s a theocracy. Their government was formed on Rimorian principles. My aunt is from there. She was happy to get away.”

  “Cellerin isn’t allied with Rimoria?” Krey asked Nora.

  She rolled her eyes. “No, they’ve never deemed us righteous enough to trust us. If my father heard that a member of the clergy from Rimoria was hoping to establish groundwork for an alliance, that would excite him. Their population is bigger than ours; they’d be a powerful ally. And they’re far enough away that it would be tough for him to check up on the story.” She turned to Sarza. “What do you think?”

  “My gut tells me it’s a good idea.”

  “Great,” Nora said. “Let’s figure out who’ll play our fake member of the clergy, and then we can hammer out the details.”

  “It can’t be you, obviously,” Krey said, “or me or Zeisha. The king can control me on sight, and the same might be true for Zeisha. We know he spent time with the militia.”

  “That leaves Kebi, Sarza, and me,” Joli said.

  “I’ll do it,” Sarza said.

  “Why you?” Nora asked.

  Sarza squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Because it’ll be dangerous. Kebi has Zeisha to think about, and Joli has her parents.”

  Krey’s mind filled in the blanks. And you don’t have anyone.

  Zeisha said softly, “You’ve got friends too.”

  Sarza dropped her gaze to the blanket she was sitting on. “Yeah. Well . . . it should still be me. My ability will guide me. Nobody else has that.”

  “If the king comes near you,” Zeisha said, “you’ll have to eat shield fuel. It’ll block your abilities.”

  “I know. Hopefully I can fulfill the prophecy without actually meeting him.” Sarza’s chin came up again, and she locked
her gaze on Nora. “I want to do this. Please.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out. When she spoke again, her voice was strained. “A year ago, I didn’t know what it felt like to have a purpose. Now I do. That’s because of the people in this room. I’m not very good at saying thanks. So let me do this. For the group.”

  “And if you don’t make it out?” Nora asked.

  “I’m afraid of plenty of things. Dying’s not one of them.”

  Coming from most people, that statement would be bluster. But Krey believed Sarza.

  Nora studied the seer for a long moment before finally saying, “Okay. It’s you.” All professionalism, she turned to Joli. “You’re the detail person. Grab some paper and a pencil. Let’s make our plans.”

  16

  Today, Ulmin took me to the chapel at the palace.

  I spent a long time looking at the stone. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The black is deep and otherworldly. In the sunshine that streams in through the skylights, the stone’s orange surfaces shimmer, almost like they’re alive.

  What caught me off guard, though, was Ulmin’s reaction to it. He doesn’t worship it. That practice would be too close to heresy. But he takes deep pride in being one of its keepers. He honors it for its power—to bestow both death and magic. He said it’s not just a stone to him. It’s a symbol of who the people of Anyari used to be, who we are, and who we could become.

  -Letter from Ambrel Kaulder to Dani Kaulder

  Dated Barna 1, 180 PD

  By the light of a single candle, Sarza put on a dark-green Rimorite dress belonging to Joli’s aunt. It was over the top in its modesty. The neckline, fastened by way too many buttons, went almost up to her chin. Long, wide sleeves swallowed her hands. Billowy fabric extended to the floor, somehow making her look even thinner than she already was. A black scarf covered her short hair.

  Sarza frowned at herself in a dirty, full-length mirror. I can’t believe Rimorite pilgrims wear dresses like this. It would suck to travel in. But since she’d supposedly done just that, she and others on her team had taken turns wearing the garment every day for two weeks without washing it. It had mud on the bottom hem, sweat stains under the arms, and a stench that made Sarza wrinkle her nose.

  “I’m honored to meet you,” she said to her dim reflection. Joli’s aunt had worked with her to get the drawling Rimorite accent just right.

  After making sure she’d put the letter from the palace and a bag of shield fuel in her pockets, Sarza blew out her candle and exited the dingy room she’d been renting in a Cellerinian pub for the last week.

  During that time, she and the emissary at the palace had sent messages back and forth, something Sarza couldn’t have done from the farm without giving away the rebels’ location. Joli had ridden an orsa to the city every night to meet with Sarza and get a status update. Last night, Sarza had finally shared some good news: the king had approved her for a morning visit.

  The dark stairs squeaked as Sarza descended into the pub’s main room, which smelled of dust and last night’s cooking. Even the cook wasn’t up this early in the morning.

  It was hours before Sarza was supposed to arrive at the palace to meet with Emissary Loryn and the king. By arriving early, she hoped to be in and out before the king even got up. If the guards let me past the gate.

  Cellerin’s quiet streets glowed with dim light from streetlamps. A chilly autumn breeze grabbed Sarza’s oversized dress, sending the hem swirling around her hurried feet. To avoid tripping, she lifted it off the ground. It would take at least an hour to walk from the pub to the palace, which was west of the city. As she traveled, she drew in deep breaths, trying to stay calm. She hadn’t had any further visions, so she was depending on her gift to provide guidance when she got there.

  Once Sarza exited the city, stars and a half moon provided barely enough light to navigate by. She was just getting worried that she’d missed the stone dome when she realized it was right in front of her.

  The structure was awe-inspiring. Sarza had imagined a perfectly round dome, like one covering a dinner plate. Instead, it was a rectangle with rounded corners, one of which she was standing next to. It connected two straight walls: one paralleling the street, the other bordering the forested area east of the palace. Both walls rose at slight angles, disappearing into the dark sky.

  I probably shouldn’t touch it, she thought, even as she reached up to do just that. Her fingertips, then her palm, connected with cool stone. Sarza wasn’t sure what she’d expected magically created stone to feel like, but it seemed the same as stone quarried from the ground. The large, rectangular pieces were smooth, and she couldn’t feel any mortar between them. Maybe magic held them together.

  She resumed her walk, brushing the stone with her fingertips as she followed it down the road. Before long, she reached the front entrance.

  Royal guards stood on each side of a metal gate that was large enough for a wagon to pass through. Lanterns sat at their feet. Each guard brought a hand to the gun at his waist as she approached. She stopped a safe distance from the first guard.

  “State your business,” he said.

  “I have a letter.” Her voice emerged as a drawl that almost made her laugh.

  As soon as her hand went to her pocket, the guard grabbed her arm. “None of that.” With a brisk touch, he frisked her sides, then stepped back. “I’ll take the letter now.”

  Sarza glared at him, biting back an insult, then pulled out the folded paper.

  He picked up his lantern with one hand and took the letter with the other. After a quick moment scanning it, he looked up, a smirk on his lips. “Rimorite clergy? Sorry I had to frisk you, Aunt.” Members of the Rimorite clergy were traditionally called Aunt and Uncle, but it sounded ridiculous coming from someone who was at least ten years older than her. “This letter says the king wants to meet you mid-morning. Why are you early?”

  “I sent the emissary a note, telling her I’d come before dawn for a time of quiet worship.”

  He squinted, reading the letter again. “Come on, I’ll walk you in. We’ll see what the emissary has to say.”

  “Thank you.”

  He approached the entrance, carrying the lantern. A couple of mets inside the dome, there was a fence, topped with razor wire. It, too, was gated. A guard stationed inside the grounds unlocked both gates. Sarza’s escort led her inside and turned right, walking along the fence.

  The area smelled of mold and moisture. In less than half a minute, Sarza was sweating. “By the stone, it’s hot in here.”

  The guard laughed. “Yeah, and you’re right, it’s by the stone—and I mean the stone above us, not the one in the chapel. The dome traps the heat. Now you see why I get stationed outside the gate as often as I can. It’s hard to sleep at night. At least it’s cooler now than it was during the summer.”

  Despite the heat, Sarza shuddered. She couldn’t imagine living in here. Was Ovrun under the dome? If so, he must be miserable. She’d never met someone who liked the outdoors as much as he did.

  After a few minutes walking through the stuffy air, the guard held up his lantern, revealing a building whose side wall extended all the way to the fence. “The chapel’s front door is in the fence,” the guard said. “It used to be the public entrance. I’ll take you to the back.” He led her around the building and knocked at the door. Nobody came. “Probably still asleep.” He knocked again.

  After a couple of minutes, the door opened, revealing an elderly woman with tightly curled, gray hair. She wore the gray tunic, slacks, and scarf of an emissary. Bands of blue and black, Cellerin’s royal colors, lined the scarf’s edges. Her eyes took in Sarza’s ridiculous costume. “Senita,” she said, “you’re early.”

  Sarza tried not to flinch at the fake name she’d given. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew I wanted time alone to worship.”

  “Perhaps you did mention that.” The emissary turned to the guard. “Please alert the king that our guest is here.”

&nb
sp; The guard turned to obey.

  “There’s no need to wake him,” Sarza blurted, barely remembering her accent. “I can meet him at the time we set.”

  “He will want to know. Come in.” The woman stepped to the side and closed the door behind Sarza. “I’m sorry the hallway is so dark. The electricity in this building is reserved for the chapel itself.” She led Sarza down the hall and opened a door. At the flick of a switch, bright light flooded the room.

  From her conversations with Nora, Sarza knew the guard and king might return from the palace, on the opposite end of the property, as soon as twenty minutes from now. She needed to figure out why she was here . . . then leave before the king got the chance to touch her.

  Despite the time crunch, she stepped toward a pedestal on the small stage. She was no Rimorian, but the black stone—the cause of Anyari’s apocalypse—filled her with awe. Light glimmered off the orange edges of its broken pieces. No wonder pilgrims traveled for weeks or months to visit it.

  “Please don’t touch it,” Emissary Loryn said, “even the case. It’s alarmed for your safety. I’ve seen two people who touched the stone, then died within a day.”

  “I understand.” Sarza pulled her attention away from the glorious, terrible artifact in the glass case and smiled at the emissary. “Thank you for allowing me to visit. I’ve traveled for weeks to see this.”

  “Would you like a few minutes alone to worship?”

  An urge—or what the book she’d been slowly reading called a premonition—overtook her. This woman wasn’t supposed to leave. “I’ll worship alone after meeting the king, since he’s on his way.”

  “Very well. Would you like to have a seat?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  They sat in the front row and chatted about how Cellerinian and Rimorite clergy might begin connecting with each other. Sarza was only half focused on the conversation. Under her cool exterior, her thoughts raced. Why am I here? What am I supposed to learn? When will the king arrive? Why didn’t I look at the clock on the wall when we came in?