Boy Who Stole Time

by Mark Bowsher

  Vira sprinted past the two fallen wizards. Her eyes saw nothing but the crown. Krish was just behind her. He pushed himself and his body reacted. He was beyond pain, beyond exhaustion. He rushed forward. He raised his sword and swung at Vira. She struck clumsily back at him with her blade, her eyes still on the crown. Krish hit out again, catching the side of Vira’s wrist. She cried out, dropped her sword and lashed out at him. Red, claw-like nails tore across his face as Vira knocked him to the ground. She bent down to lift the crown.

  ‘Oi!’ came Balthrir’s voice. She was on her feet, just ahead of Eshter. She pointed her staff down at Vira, who froze as the tip of her middle finger made contact with the crown.

  All noise evaporated in the hot air. Dim sunlight danced in the dust. The fight had ground to a halt in a single moment.

  ‘It is mine…’ Vira spoke in a low soft voice so that everyone had to be near-silent to hear her. ‘It is mine, wizard. Step aside.’

  ‘I don’t think so, matey.’ Balthrir was her casual, confident self again.

  Vira’s finger didn’t abandon its loose, shaky grip on the rim of the crown but her eyes glanced up at Balthrir.

  ‘You’re leaning all the way forward, wizard,’ said Vira. ‘You can’t put all your strength behind striking me from there.’ She was right. Krish could see that Balthrir was leaning so far forward that she’d fall at any second. She certainly wouldn’t be able to reel back and strike with any real speed. ‘You’ll fall before you can even utter a spell. Bend your knees… move your body into a bow… to your new queen!’ Vira’s smile was small but powerful. Her delicate, beautiful tones seemed to command the room’s complete attention without her raising her voice. Then, her eyes lusting for a life extended, she added, just so the very nearest could make it out: ‘And have your companion pass his satchel to me…’ Her smile held the kind of simple confidence that said it was all over.

  ‘Let’s see ’ow long the crown stays on yer ’ead… dear…’ Balthrir’s eyes were narrow and she barely opened her mouth to speak.

  Krish looked from Balthrir to Vira and back again. There must be something he could do.

  ‘Hand the crown over to me, wizard!’ came the voice of Elwynt. ‘And we will spare you!’

  ‘I don’t think s—’ Balthrir began.

  ‘And him…’ finished Elwynt.

  Balthrir turned her head slowly upwards, away from Vira. Krish looked too and his eyes were almost as horrified as hers. Elwynt held a knife to the throat of a tall man with a round, hairless face and large, bulbous eyes. R’ghir held a dagger to the throat of a woman. She had long, flowing hair and a deceptively youthful face. A face that was familiar.

  ‘No!’ said R’ghir. ‘Give it to me!’

  Balthrir hesitated. That, combined with the fearful look in her eyes, confirmed Krish’s guess. These were Balthrir’s parents. Krish felt helpless. What could he do? He saw the fear creeping through his friend’s mind.

  ‘I… I don’t know them…’ said Balthrir weakly.

  ‘They are your kin!’ spoke R’ghir. ‘I see your face in hers! Your eyes are his eyes! I will spill her blood! Your blood! So give me the crown!’

  ‘No! You will give it to me!’ interjected Elwynt. ‘I will spare him!’

  Balthrir’s eyes were darting all over the place. She was determined to keep one eye on Vira. Her father’s large, round eyes stared lovingly at his daughter. Her mother watched her child with a look of horror and pride. Her teeth were gritted and defiant. Krish’s mind was racing with a million different solutions but none that he could formulate into a realistic plan.

  ‘You see,’ said Vira simply to Balthrir. ‘A lot of people may fight me for the crown… but not you. Stand aside. And there will be no further bloodshed.’

  I don’t want anybody else to die, thought Krish.

  He watched Balthrir closely; her whole body was vibrating with panic.

  I DON’T want anybody else to die. He’d had enough. This had to stop.

  Balthrir was losing control of her lungs; her breath spilled out of her.

  I don’t want anybody else to die, thought Krish, but I’ve seen it. More will die. If I don’t do this. Krish had a handful of words on the tip of his tongue. Words that would save Balthrir. Save her parents. Save more people than would be killed if he didn’t utter them. I don’t want anyone else to die. Even someone as evil as her. But this is the only way.

  Krish knew that nobody deserved to die. But the visions of the bodies piling up in the Sands of Tyraah were now all he could see. And he had three words that were the best weapons he had.

  ‘She’s not armed.’ He directed it at Vira and then looked straight at Elwynt and R’ghir. The Lords of the East and West stared back and followed Krish’s gaze to the sword Vira had dropped. Krish locked eyes with Vira once more before meeting Balthrir’s gaze. She nodded back in sudden realisation.

  ‘All yours, boys…’ Balthrir stood up straight, releasing Vira, who snatched up the crown and placed it delicately upon her head. Her eyes were ablaze with awe. With fury. With fire. With a lust for blood and power.

  ‘All hail Quee-AARRRGGGHH!’ Vira’s scream tore through the air above the flat of land that was once the throne room. Her blood poured onto the ground as Elwynt and R’ghir, who had rushed over, abandoning Balthrir’s parents, withdrew their blades from Vira’s chest. The weight of the crown returned as the life left Vira’s body and she crumpled into the dirt. Elwynt, R’ghir and Krish all sped towards it but Eshter hurled them aside. Balthrir raised her staff to Eshter’s. Their staffs locked in mid-air.

  Krish ran for the crown again but the ground vanished beneath a flurry of feet rushing in the other direction. Krish looked up to see why they were running. The wall that had been wavering was now collapsing. They would all be crushed.

  ‘BALTHRIR!’ Krish cried.

  Balthrir saw. She unlocked her staff from Eshter’s and pointed it up. The wall came to a halt in mid-collapse. She held it there, grunting in pain, hardly able to halt its descent. The wall was slowly advancing towards the ground. It wouldn’t be long until it was low enough for everyone to fall in an undignified heap with most surviving, but Balthrir was going to lose her grip any second now.

  ‘ESHTER!’ Balthrir called out to the old wizard who was reaching for the crown. ‘ESHTER! HELP ME!’ They would both be crushed if Eshter didn’t help.

  Eshter held up her staff, pointed it at the wall of screaming prisoners and began to lower it. Krish ran forward, looking again for the crown, but all he could see was dust. Then he saw it. He sprinted forward but R’ghir was crawling towards it, laughing insanely. Krish accelerated but R’ghir’s hand was outstretched, inches from the crown…

  A bloody wooden plank appeared out of nowhere and struck R’ghir across the face, knocking him out cold. Krish looked up to see Tol nodding to himself, looking quite satisfied. Tol then looked up in terror and ran as fast as he could. The wall was moments from collapsing. Screams from the prisoners assaulted Krish’s ears and their horrified faces filled his vision.

  ‘OUT!’ cried Balthrir. ‘KRISH, GET OUT!’

  ‘Not without y—’

  ‘I’m bloody comin’, mate!’ Balthrir turned as she began to lose her grip. They ran. The wall of prisoners hurtled towards the ground. Eshter was close behind them. They ran and ran, their legs sore, breathing madly, their hearts aching in their heaving chests. Krish gripped the satchel close. And then there was an almighty crash and the screams faded to silence.

  They ran a few more metres, to be sure, hardly able to stop themselves, and then they turned and looked.

  The Black Palace was gone. Dust twisted up into the air above the spot where the palace once stood. A sea of bodies, most groaning but some quiet, lay in the dirt.

  As the dust settled Krish became aware of a beam of light shining towards them. He looked up to see a jewel-encrusted circle, held up high, partially obscuring the sun as it arched towards the highest point in the sky. He cou
ld just make out the shape of tiny wings beating with ease just above the crown and he realised that this was the first time he had really seen Gulwin. His tiny sparrow-like body, his feathers of emerald green, his wings of deep ocean blue, his little red beak and his beady black eyes. He forgot for a moment how the crown worked as the sight of such a small creature clutching a comparatively large object just looked so odd. But as he turned to Balthrir his eyes clearly echoed the question on his mind.

  ‘The crown weighs nothing to the King,’ she answered.

  CHAPTER 34

  PALACE OF THE SKIES

  Before returning to Krish and Balthrir’s story, it’s worth talking, for a short while at least, about what happened in Ilir after their adventure came to an end.

  The days that followed saw much change in Ilir. The reign of King Obsendei was over and the reign of King Gulwin had begun. Many of the nobles and the late King’s husbands and wives feared execution for trying to seize the throne but Gulwin was not interested in shedding more blood. Instead he put them to work in the fields for the rest of their days, allowing the long-serving families to retire immediately as the treacherous nobles took their place.

  Those nobles remaining didn’t seem to care too much about what would happen to the people but more about the rebuilding of the palace and how much that would cost. Gulwin had other ideas. Many riches were recovered from the palace and Gulwin decided to use these to build houses and to better equip the doctors and surgeons to help care for the sick. The nobles were horrified at such a suggestion as clearly the palace was needed if the King was to retain his authority.

  Gulwin disagreed. Good judgement, fairness and justice were what was needed for him to retain his authority, he said. And besides, the skies would be his palace. From there he could see all of his kingdom. He would get to know his people, rather than hide behind walls and the deception a world of finery brought you.

  The people hoped there would be no more working in fields and mines and perhaps even the abolition of prisons altogether but Gulwin said that this would not be fair either. Those who were cruel and unfair would be punished by being made to perform the most undesirable jobs. (This included R’ghir, who was charged with the murders of both Vira and Hesh. Elwynt had perished when the palace had collapsed. Eshter, who had only ever done as she was told, aside from a brief bout of rebellious behaviour during the fall of the Black Palace, continued to serve the crown. Her treacherous behaviour did however lead to a demotion. She became a senior wizard serving in an advisory capacity rather than retaining her role as official court wizard as before.)

  It would be a careful balancing act as Gulwin did not want to invent crimes (as previous monarchs had done) to keep the important work in the mines and the fields going. So instead he shared out the jobs widely so most able-bodied people had to spend at least a short time working these undesirable occupations, though prisoners took on the vast majority of this burden.

  Gulwin also refused to wear the crown. He had Eshter bury the bejewelled band of wood in the ground where the Black Palace had once stood and enchant it to grow into a silver tree. The enchantment did not allow the tree to bear any fruit unless King Gulwin died. Then from the tree would grow a single golden apple. Only a fair, worthy and truthful individual would be able to pick the apple and taste the divine fruit. They would immediately become the queen or king.

  Gulwin ruled from his Palace of the Skies for a century and although by the end of that time some people doubted him, missing the firm hand of the queens and kings of old, Gulwin could see, taking in the land from a great height one day, that the world was in general a happier place. Every corner of his heart filled with contentment and that very same day he disappeared into the skies, never to return.

  ⁂

  And this all would come to pass (primarily, at least) because of the actions of two people, whose story we return to now, the morning of the day after the palace had fallen.

  Balthrir’s mother, Ahava, stepped forward.

  ‘My little Thrir.’ Dark, unreadable eyes, her brow heavy with weariness and resolve. The wind toyed with her long, tattered hair, making her appear girlish for her age. She placed a hand on Balthrir’s shoulder. Daughter looked into her mother’s eyes expectantly. Ahava kissed her child on the forehead and whispered in her ear. Whatever she said made mother and daughter clutch each other tight enough, it seemed, to break one another.

  Faltura, Balthrir’s father, joined them. He was tall and slim and had large round eyes to match his large round face.

  Krish watched as Balthrir hugged her parents in the glow of dawn. Their embrace looked tight enough to crush rock but on closer inspection it was gentle, relaxed. Their heads were hidden by their embrace as if they were a single figure. They almost swayed with the breeze, their tired forms contented at the end of one of the hardest days of their lives. Krish had never seen a family look so happy doing so little.

  They broke apart and Faltura took his daughter’s staff.

  ‘I thought I told you to burn this?’ he said.

  ‘I, er…’ said Balthrir.

  Faltura smiled. ‘If you had we’d all be dead.’ He put his arm round his daughter, held her staff high above his head and called out to the crowds around them. ‘My daughter saved you! My daughter saved you all!’ The people around them still hadn’t processed what was going on; a few cheered but many were exhausted, some preoccupied with mourning those who had perished in the chaos. Many former prisoners, thanks to Balthrir’s itching powder, were also rather preoccupied with scratching themselves. But it didn’t matter because there was a bright smile on Balthrir’s face that said she was truly proud to be her parents’ child for the first time in a long while.

  Krish sat in the dust amid the makeshift refugee camp of ex-convicts and nobles, none of whom had anywhere to live. Gulwin was flying around desperately trying to arrange places for them to stay and to sort the criminals into those who had committed what he was calling ‘trivial crimes’ or ‘non-crimes’ like eating cheese on a Thursday (a law the old King had passed to maintain his palace) and those who had committed serious crimes and would have to face further imprisonment. Most were committers of ‘trivial crimes’, so his job became fairly straightforward. Few feared Gulwin and even fewer fled. Most seemed happy to accept his judgement. Gulwin had spoken briefly to Balthrir, although Krish hadn’t had a chance to ask what they had discussed yet.

  Tol had ripped the boards off the Broken Scythe and allowed many of the homeless to stay there for free until they could find somewhere to live. Krish had also seen Madam Nboosa out in front of the Scythe with her staff, using it to treat wounds and start fires for the refugees to cook with. He got the distinct impression that she’d been waiting a long time for the opportunity to use her staff again for a reason other than policing the Festival of Magic.

  After some time Balthrir broke away from her family and floated over to Krish.

  ‘You, er, wanna go for a walk, mate?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure,’ said Krish. ‘Sounds good.’

  ⁂

  The river was flowing. Spurts of green were poking out of the banks of the shallow waters as life returned the desolate lands of Ilir. Balthrir led Krish along the river, in truth no more than a brook, to the gardens that lined its western bank. When they’d left Al Kara they had been dry and dead-looking, but the revived river had brought the gardens back to life and now they were green and lush and teeming with life. They walked around the winding paths of the empty gardens, under boughs of trees and trellises entwined with vines. There were flowers of yellow and white and purple and orange and a feast of sweet scents wafting through the air.

  Balthrir brought Krish to a stop at the edge of the gardens, where the path led down to the water, next to drifts of fragrant little flowers of white and purple. Balthrir sat on the bank and pulled off her boots. She tentatively lowered her filthy, hardened soles into the cool water and let out an involuntary yelp of pleasure as the river soothed
her feet after their long journey. Krish joined her. He had never felt so relaxed. The soft light of the sun meandering through the leaves as it climbed to full strength in the late-morning sky set his eyes aglow with delicate orange and yellow under his closed lids. His body was warm from the heat of the star above him, his hot feet cooled by the running water. He placed a wetted palm on the scratches Vira had left upon his cheek, and the teethmarks from the Vulrein on his right leg tingled in the stream.

  ‘Might go back to The Scar,’ said Balthrir.

  ‘Yeah? Sounds good,’ answered Krish. ‘Not scared of water any more?’

  ‘Dunno. Don’t think so. Scarier things out there, yer know!’

  ‘Yeah!’ Krish let a little laugh escape. ‘What did Gulwin say? You gonna be court wizard?’

  ‘Nope. Don’t wanna be, anyway.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Asked if there was anything else I’d like to do.’

  ‘Sure you could do loads. Your powers are just…incredible.’

  ‘Yeah. You said that before.’ Krish loved how relaxed she sounded. She spoke more slowly than before. Taking to time to enjoy each word she spoke. ‘You said I was powerful and I never thought about it but… maybe I can use it for something more than just… yer know? Impressing kings and all that? So I said maybe I could… build stuff, help people… I dunno. Loads I could do with my magic.’

  ‘That’s great, Balthrir. Really great. Bet you’ve always wanted to do something like that.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Balthrir opened her eyes and looked over at Krish.

  ‘You could come with us for a bit. Travel the lands,’ she said. ‘I mean, I guess you should get back…’

  Balthrir looked at the satchel full of Myrthali. Krish did the same. He picked up the bag and placed it in his lap. He opened it up and looked at all the tiny grains glistening in the sunlight. All he had to do was touch them and he’d be gone. He’d never see Balthrir again. And the sinking feeling inside him was so overpowering that all he wanted to do was think of something else. Anything else.