The Omen of Stones

by Casey L. Bond

  She shrugged, her voice turning brittle. “It isn’t like anyone would believe you, anyway. When they asked how you knew what happened, they’d accuse you of murder or lunacy. Either one would get you thrown into The Wilds. The Kingdom sends all its unwanted here.”

  I wanted to tell her that she was not unwanted; to look in her eyes and promise that I would have my father set this all right, and if he refused, that I one day would.

  Instead, I clamped my teeth together and stared at the rushing water, memorizing the spot where I would need to dig later.

  In the distance, voices shouted, “Omen!”

  She muttered something under her breath. “That’s Lindey, among others. Prepare to come face to face with our magnanimous Founder.”

  He sounds like a real gem.

  12

  Omen

  As we rushed upstream, I shouted for Lindey so she would know I heard her and that I wasn’t lost to the flood waters. Topping a gently rolling hill, we found her. Part of her hair had come loose from her bun and she was crying and shaking. “I was so afraid!” she cried, throwing her arms around me. “I couldn’t find you. I thought you were just going to look and come right back.”

  “We were,” I whispered, aware of our audience. Edward and Sebastian Smith glared at River from a few feet away. The shiver came again, this time from the scathing looks they aimed in our direction. “I’ll explain later.” I pulled away and mentally prepared for the battle I knew was about to unfold.

  She nodded, wiped her eyes, and smiled at the Smith men. “All is well. Thank you, gentlemen, for offering to come look for her.”

  Edward did not appear to share in her joy to find me alive and well. He was fixated on River. Finally, he spoke. “Would you care to explain why you felt you should take it upon yourself to usher a complete stranger into our village, Omen?”

  “I told you what happened –” Lindey cut in.

  Edward cut her off with a sharp glance. “Even so. He is a stranger. He should be considered dangerous.”

  “But he’s not. He stayed with us last night and was a perfect gentleman, and he’s going to return to the Kingdom as soon as he’s able,” I explained.

  “Lies,” Edward hissed, taking an aggressive step toward River. “No one just wanders out of the Kingdom of their own volition. You’d have to be a fool to leave by choice, and a fool to think we don’t know better. He was banished and will certainly never be welcomed back into Nautilus again. He is lying to you.”

  I looked at River, noting the muscle ticking in his cheek and the way his fists were balled at his side.

  “Were you banished?” I asked him, Edward’s words pummeling me like a blow to the chest. He already lied about being from the Core, then told us he was from Sector One, only to find out he was really a servant in a wealthy person’s home.

  “No. I left Thirteen just the way I said, and will return the same way I came in. I will be welcomed back,” he answered confidently, standing taller instead of cowering the way most did when the Smiths pushed.

  “Prove it,” Sebastian challenged, standing with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “I only have my word,” River answered.

  “What does your word mean to us?” he fired back.

  “Maybe it’s as sound as yours, Sebastian,” I defended.

  Sebastian’s eyes darkened as he stared me down. His eyes flicked to the ward stones, swinging in the tree, tickled by the wind howling over the plain.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked angrily.

  Edward shrewdly appraised our new friend. “If that’s the case, then surely you won’t mind being of some help to us? We have questions about what is happening in the Kingdom. Our militia has noted a few changes near our village lately, While we’ve sent scouts closer to the Kingdom to see what might be causing those changes, perhaps you’ll be better able to enlighten us.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can,” River promised. His attention focused behind me and I knew she must have reappeared. The spirit was as determined for him to help her as the Smiths seemed to be.

  “Then we’ll dine together this evening. I’ll have Judith prepare a meal to welcome our new friend,” Edward decided. He said the word friend insincerely and sharply, as if it were a blade whose tip was pointed directly at River’s heart. “Please don’t leave before we’re able to speak,” he added threateningly, glancing at the flood waters.

  I’d been somewhat afraid of River when I first brought him home, but now that I knew he was like me, I didn’t fear him at all. I also didn’t want the Smiths to know he was a witch, let alone Fate-Kissed. Right now, the Smiths saw him as an asset, someone from whom to glean information. But what would happen when he ran out of answers to give them?

  When I met River, I feared him. Now I feared for him.

  The Smiths inviting themselves to my birthday dinner was almost as awkward as the dance they held in my honor. Dining at their home tonight would be torture, and we would have to tread very carefully.

  Lindey, River, and I walked home quietly with the brooding Smith men trailing behind us. It felt like they had weapons pointed at our backs. They escorted us home and slowed their pace as we entered the gate, then the house.

  Edward announced that dinner would be at five, and I saw the warning that flashed in his eyes. Don’t be late, and River better be with you when you arrive.

  I latched the door behind us as Lindey peered out the window to make sure the Smith men kept walking. I knew they’d have militia watching our every move until dinnertime.

  River hovered just inside the door. “I should leave,” he offered quietly. “I can make my way across the river.”

  I shook my head, knowing his attempt would be futile.

  He stared at the scrap of paper tacked to the wall. “I can swim across. The fate pinned to the wall isn’t mine, Omen. It may not even mean what you think,” he said carefully.

  My mother’s foresight didn’t matter. Future or not, swimming in the river was dangerous right now. If he did manage to make it across, it wouldn’t be the only danger lurking between here and his home.

  “What about those who lie between East Village and the Kingdom? What if you run into men like the ones who tried to drown you?” I asked.

  He looked at his wrists, now nearly healed. “I think I’ll be able to spirit myself home, if I can get beyond your wards.”

  “What is spiriting, exactly?” My stomach knotted as the words spilled out. I hated to be like the Smiths, demanding answers. They wanted answers to their questions, but I needed some from River, too.

  Lindey hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll tend the chickens.”

  Which meant she was giving us space to talk freely. Lindey knew much more than I realized about witches, having been the wife of one, but because she didn’t have magic, there was only so much she could tell me. Beyond that, once River left, she had a lot left to explain. How did she and her husband marry, when she told me witches were only allowed to hand-fast? Did her husband forsake his way of life to capture her heart? What did she sacrifice, other than her home, to be with him?

  Lindey was still visibly shaken, and I felt wretched for scaring her. River and I watched as she hooked a woven basket on her arm and pushed open the back door. She was still looking out for us, making sure Sebastian wasn’t spying on us for his dad, and giving us privacy to speak freely about our fates.

  There was so much I didn’t know. I could never see myself leaving Lindey’s home, but part of me wanted to follow River, to see the witch sector I knew so little about and see if anyone else was like me.

  River wetted his bottom lip, making me lose my train of thought. “Spiriting is when you use magic to travel from one point to another. It’s tricky to learn, but when you get the hang of it, you’ll find it’s the best way to get anywhere fast. And they call it
spiriting because you appear out of nowhere, like a ghost.”

  “Why didn’t you spirit away from the men who kidnapped you?”

  He gave a rueful grin. “I was focused on following and didn’t see the men approach. One of them hit me in the head, and while I was still trying to make sense of what had just happened, the other bound me with the spelled rope.” He tentatively touched a spot on the back of his head, feeling the tender spot. “I made a mistake and lost focus. If I’d had my wits about me, I could have spirited away in an instant.”

  How did they know he was a witch at first glance? I didn’t know until after he told me the entire ordeal.

  “Can you do it now?” I asked, hoping to see how this worked. Hoping he might teach me before he left for home.

  He shook his head, frustrated. “I can’t seem to. At first, I thought that residual magic from the spelled rope had seeped into the wounds on my wrists, but now I realize something strong is blocking me. It has to be your wards.”

  My brows popped up. “My wards keep you from using magic?”

  “They don’t keep the souls away, but the ward magic weakens them. I didn’t realize it until I saw the difference between the spirit appearing within the wards, and then outside the wards today. If they are powerful enough to warn away spirits, they can definitely nullify magic – enough to stop me from leaving, anyway.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “The Founder and his son didn’t like me being here. I’m sorry to have gotten you into trouble.”

  I looked around at our house, then to the boy standing in it, into his honey-gold eyes. “I don’t regret saving you, and I don’t regret bringing you here, or making salve for you, or letting you stay. I don’t regret walking with you to see the flood. But if I had let those men drown you, or if I would’ve left you bound in the rope when I had the means to sever it, or outside without a roof over your head when I had one to offer…If I’d refused to ease the pain in your wrists, River, I would have regretted it. I would have regretted every second of any and all of those choices.”

  “Thank you,” he said, so softly I almost missed it.

  My heart tightened at the thought of the Smiths interrogating him later tonight. If I were in his position, I’m not sure if I’d go to be polite or run away, flood be damned.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “What does the spirit woman look like?”

  River tensed.

  13

  River

  The woman looked like Omen, to be honest, and since her birth mother abandoned her, it was possible she had died and was seeking her out to make amends. If a spirit felt they’d left something unfinished, they often tried to finish it or asked me to. Sometimes I could help. I could deliver a message that was long overdue. But other times it was impossible. Many a spirit lingered until time passed and there was no chance to make things right.

  “She has dark hair and wears a long dress. She’s older than us, but not by many years.”

  I didn’t want to give her more details, afraid my mere mention would summon the spirit again. So I didn’t tell Omen that the woman’s eyes were pale and that I wondered if they might be a similar shade of gray to her own. I didn’t divulge that they had similar builds, or that the bow in their top lips and the slight dimple in the middle of their bottom lips were the same.

  I wasn’t sure how a dying woman could scrawl a note as she gave birth near a riverbed, but what if her mother had died having her, or shortly thereafter and left Omen as safely as she could, given her condition?

  What if she hadn’t been abandoned, but had been loved very much?

  Until I knew for certain, I had to be careful not to give Omen any hope that it might actually be her birthmother. In truth, their similarities didn’t strike me until the Smiths showed up looking for her and the spirit appeared. She hovered around Omen almost protectively. Then she looked at her with a devastating mixture of despair and longing.

  “What kind of dress?” she pressed.

  “It’s white and plain.”

  She looked down at her own garment. “She’s dressed like me?”

  “Sort of, I guess.”

  “It would make sense. She’s probably from the East Village if she’s buried so close, but we’ve never buried the dead near the water. Erosion changes the banks over time, and might unearth anyone buried too close.” She walked across the room to the scrap of paper and ran her fingers over it, tracing the words.

  I gravitated to her. “Omen, this fate may not be yours,” I said, looking at the swooping letters, obviously written by a woman’s skilled hand.

  “It’s mine. Fate told me it was,” she admitted. “He just didn’t tell me when I would meet it. That’s why Lindey worries.”

  “Why did you tell her?”

  “Sometimes I talk in my sleep,” she explained. “I never would have told her otherwise.”

  Omen didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. I barely knew her but could intuit that much.

  Just then, Lindey came in from outside, a worried look sliding over her face when she saw us in front of Omen’s mother’s note.

  “What are the flowers and herbs for?” I asked, to cover our conversation.

  Omen smiled and my heart stuttered at the sight. “To season our suppers, and for random strangers with wounds who need tending.”

  I grinned. “Well played.”

  “I just like them,” she admitted with a shrug, her smile relaxed but still in place.

  Lindey stepped back inside and put her basket on the table. “I have a question,” she said with a sharpness to her tone, turning equally sharp eyes on me. She was about to stab or fillet me. I wasn’t sure which.

  “Exactly how does a witch become a servant in a household in the first Sector?”

  I knew the explanation I’d given was flimsy. I lied and then lied again to keep them from knowing I was the Prince. But it seemed my lies had caught up with me, because Lindey had stopped looking at the silken strands I’d woven to the greater picture beyond.

  “My mother is a witch. My father is not. He’s respected in The Core.”

  Lindey crossed her arms over her chest, not believing a word I spoke. I couldn’t blame her. I had no one to blame but myself. Lying always cost something, and Fate never rewarded dishonesty, because he didn’t respect it.

  “And your mother lives in Thirteen now? After she forsook her kind for someone without a single flicker of magic?” she asked, brows raised skeptically.

  I had no idea what to say, but just as I was about to point out that she had done the same, Lindey put one hand on her ample hip and held the other out to stop me. “Before you attempt to weave another pretty story, River, please consider telling us the truth. We cannot trust or protect you without it.”

  Omen’s pale eyes shone with hurt. That look quickly morphed into disappointment and slid into anger.

  “I’m afraid the truth might endanger you,” I said truthfully. “And I’m afraid you might look at me differently when you learn it.”

  “Well, perhaps what you’re hiding will explain your need to lie. You know, telling the truth isn’t all that difficult,” Omen lashed out.

  Her anger made my chest ache.

  I walked to the hearth and braced myself against the small wooden mantle, defeated. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, and you’ll have to help me come up with an ironclad story to tell the Smiths.”

  “You were banished, weren’t you?” Omen accused.

  I pursed my lips together, closed my eyes, and hung my head. “No, I wasn’t banished. I left Thirteen exactly how I told you, but what I omitted was the truth of who I am.”

  Omen crossed the room, bracing a hand on the mantle to mirror my stance, and looked me in the eye. “Who are you?”

  I took a deep breath a
nd gave her the truth she sought. “I’m the crown Prince of Nautilus.”

  Omen’s eyes flashed angrily. “Now is not the time to tell more lies.”

  “I’m not lying,” I promised. I looked to Lindey, then Omen. “My father is Tauren Nautilus; my mother is the witch Queen Sable, the one every Purist in the Kingdom loathes, and I am their son, River Lucius Nautilus. Because of my parentage, they hate me, too. That’s how the men knew who I was as soon as I stepped past the barrier. It’s why they attacked me, though I think they were after any witch they could find and just happened to get lucky with me.”

  Lindey stood there frozen, her mouth slowly opening in shock and disbelief.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with the banishment of your husband, Lindey, and I promise that when I return, I’ll have my father look into how it happened and make sure it doesn’t again. I know it doesn’t change the past, but maybe we can change the future. There are protocols to be followed. There must be absolute proof of a crime for someone to be banished—”

  “That’s the thing,” she interrupted. “Those who hate witches – Purists, as you call them – will do whatever it takes. They fabricate evidence the same way witches conjure fire or water or air or work the earth! They’re motivated and corrupt, a volatile combination that doesn’t bode well for innocent witches who choose a life outside Thirteen.”

  Or for banished witches, apparently. How many of our kind had those men killed before they happened upon me?

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I would talk to Dad, confident he’d want to know what was happening. Lindey had been living in The Wilds for a while, but corruption usually wasn’t a one-time affair. More often, it begat more dishonesty.

  Omen looked stunned, and Lindey seemed to be weighing my request to conceal my identity. The room was silent, save for the rattling of the paper on the wall. The wind blew it so that the edges raked against one another.

  “Well,” Omen finally said, “we definitely cannot let the Smiths find out who you are. We need to come up with a believable, fake life story,” she suggested dryly. Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she refuses to meet my eye when I sat across from her.