The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars

by C. L. Schneider

  We entered the prison. Coming in midway of a tunnel that was empty and sandy in both directions, we were instantly engulfed in a rude amount of light and heat. The sewage smell had diminished greatly, but the smoke-laced air was hot and heavy. Pitch dripping from the burning torches bolted to the walls hit the sand with a hiss. It was the only distinct sound. The rest were a muffled blend of faraway voices and ominous moans.

  I turned to Liel. “Give us five minutes to clear the way.” I talked over his protest. “Keep an eye on our exit. If we run into trouble, I don’t want to get cut off from behind.”

  Krillos pulled his weapon. “Ready for a little stroll through hell?” I nodded and he motioned for me to go ahead. “Ladies first.”

  THIRTY THREE

  Veins of black opal, serpentine, moonstone, and carnelian crawled high along the walls. Higher, at the edge of my vision, cavities brimmed with clusters of golden barite, tourmaline, quartz, and amethyst. Intact and untouched, allowed to grow freely for decades, the jutting formations had grown to massive proportions. Their untapped auras wafted out in eager, fluttering ripples. Their colors; shimmering blues and purples, glossy yellow-greens, lustrous silvers, and fiery orange-reds, webbed out across the rock, gleaming in the light of multiple, over-sized torches, planted in the ground.

  The chamber was spectacular. From their vibrations, the deposits were deep and rich—way more than the Langorians realized. But there was no practical way for them to mine here. The walls were too far apart and the bottom half too sheer. The bridge across the crater in the center was fairly new, but the thin planks were too flimsy for mining and they spanned a dizzying drop. Still, I didn’t care about down.

  Up; the walls glowed for me.

  I breathed in their raw, untried energy.

  “Hey.” The point of Krillos’ sword tapped my back. “I know you’re getting a stiff one over all these pretty rocks. But we need to go.”

  We moved across the bridge. We entered the chamber on the other side and my already precarious mood plummeted. The ceiling was uncomfortably low. The walls and floors were peppered with small, gate-covered holes. Inside, slumped over shapes stirred at our presence. Through the bars I got glimpses of shaved heads and bony faces. Of pale, gaunt, rag-clad bodies covered in sores and filth. Dozens of eyes reflected in the torchlight; distant, deep wells of despair that gazed at nothing.

  I turned slightly toward Krillos. “Is this where you were?”

  “Not this room. But they’re all the same.”

  The tension and distress in his voice had been plain. I understood it perfectly. Death waited in the shadows. I could smell him; stalking with bated breath; lapping up the sweat and overt misery that wafted off the prisoners; lurking in the urine and blood soaked straw they slept on. The resigned wretchedness that oozed from the old god’s every step hung thick in the room. There was no escaping it. It was palpable and smothering. It reached out with a cold, familiar touch and took hold of me. It slipped inside and woke things up, drawing out moments of my own captivity with such exquisite detail that it was abundantly clear: not only had I underestimated Krillos’ reaction to coming here, I hadn’t even considered my own.

  It never came to me, what their suffering might spark. That it might cause me to taste mine anew. That I might feel the barren stone floor, like ice on my skin; the things crawling amid the filth in my hair; the dry glaze of dust in my lungs; the biting hunger that stretched far beyond my empty stomach to every weakened part of my body.

  The recollections overpowered me, and the truth became obvious: Kayn’l doesn’t work like everyone thinks. My body hadn’t been numb. My mind had simply been made incapable of processing the sensations. It stored them. It saved them. So I could feel everything later on.

  We exited the room of cells and the tunnel widened. Water ran somewhere close behind the walls, making a sound like constant thunder. The heaviness of the air swelled. It worsened as we entered a tall chamber clouded with steam and divided by a raging river. A stone overpass connected the two sides. Mist sprayed up to glisten the surface. Froth stirred around clusters of boulders protruding from the water. There was power here too, but none of it was visible. It pulsed beneath the waves—tempting me with ideas for dealing with the two men guarding the tunnel on the far side of the bridge.

  Leaning casually, uniforms crumpled, eyes not where they were supposed to be, the men (sharing a laugh and a bottle) were completely unaware we’d entered the room. Their obliviousness became amusing when Krillos let out a startling shout. “Hey! What’s going on here?”

  The one in possession of the bottle, a square-headed, dopey-eyed giant, spewed his mouthful of drink on the ground. The other, a touch leaner and smarter-looking, scrambled to straighten his uniform. He affected a rigid, if not inebriated, stance hoping it might save him from getting flogged.

  “I suggest an answer,” Krillos warned over the roar of the water. “Or should I come over there, slice off those worthless tongues, and be done with it?”

  “Apologies, Sir.” The giant tucked the bottle behind his back. “I thought—”

  “You would shirk your duties?” Krillos guessed. “Polish off a bottle or two in peace? Find a nice corner to cuddle in ’cuz no one’s here to watch your lazy ass and tell you otherwise? Well, guess what, boys? I’m here.” Krillos stared a moment, making them squirm. “If I wasn’t expected upstairs, I’d whip the stupid out of you here and now. But I’ll overlook your inattention, and your slovenly appearance, if you take this filthy slug off my hands and find a pit to throw him in.”

  The thinner one spoke up. “I wasn’t aware any new prisoners were arriving.”

  “I’m sorry,” Krillos replied. “The King must have forgotten to inform you. Should I ask him to come down and clarify the situation? I’m sure he’d appreciate the chance to breathe in all this lovely, hot stink.”

  The man’s voice shook. “No, Sir. Of course not, Sir.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Krillos nudged me onto the bridge. I kept my head low, watching my footing and taking the focus off my face. I wasn’t overly concerned with being recognized. The guards, having surrendered a good deal of their skin color to fear, were too busy watching their superior to notice me.

  Reaching the other side, Krillos stepped in front. He relieved the dopey guard of his wine and helped himself to it. Licking the spill from his lips, he offered me the bottle. “Go on, ya mutt. I know you’re thirsty.” I made motion to take it, and Krillos jerked the bottle away. Slowly, he poured a measure of the dark liquid out onto my boots.

  Thinking he’d found someone else to torment, the guards relaxed. As they started laughing, Krillos spun and smashed the bottle into the square-headed man’s face. He lurched toward me, a chunk of glass embedded in his puffy cheek. I stepped aside and helped him to the ground with a kick to the side of his knee.

  Krillos rose up from the body of the other guard. “I’m going on to the forge. Stay here and ditch these two.” Wiping blood splatter off his face, he glanced past me. “Both of you.”

  I followed his gaze to see Liel entering the room. By the time I turned back, Krillos was already jogging down the tunnel. I stared after his fading form, listening to his jangling armor overlap the distant hints of clanging steel.

  A pain-filled scream echoed back toward us as Liel came off the bridge.

  “Anything?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “It’s all quiet back that way.” Liel looked down at the dead guardsmen. “Maybe we should throw them in the water.”

  I glanced at the bodies. I looked back at the way Krillos had gone. Then I broke the shackles and went after him.

  Creeping down the long, unlit corridor, burning coal and other noxious odors tainted the air. Fingers of torchlight stretched out from the room behind me. I moved past them and the way grew dim. It brightened again up ahead, where a sharp curve choked off all but a glimmer of the fires blazing in the forge.

  Liel skulked up behind me. �
�Krillos told us to deal with the guards.”

  “Yep.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  I stopped and looked at him. “This is my mission, Liel, and my friend in that cage. I want to be there when something goes wrong.”

  “Don’t you mean if something goes wrong? With everyone assembled for Draken’s speech, getting Jarryd out should be quick and easy.”

  I winced. “Don’t say that, kid. Nothing about Langor is easy.”

  Liel stayed close the rest of the way. As we neared the curve, I stopped and flattened my back against the wall. Sneaking to the edge, I peered around into the heart of the forge. My first glimpse was fire and smoke. I blinked the sting from my eyes, looked again, and found what could only be the cage, hanging from a chain suspended high above a raging fire pit. Bodies were scattered about the room. I couldn’t tell their condition, but none of them were moving. All of them were Langorian.

  I spotted Krillos on the right. Surrounded by a rowdy mass of shouting, half-starved prisoners, he was on his knees with a glowing hot poker aimed at his throat.

  Grabbing Liel, I pulled him up alongside me. “See what I mean?”

  THIRTY FOUR

  “A prison break?” Liel muttered for the fourth time as we made our way back to the bridge room. “I can’t believe this. The prisoners are escaping. They’re escaping right now. Right now.”

  “I can’t think of a better time.” I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one was following. “The place is practically empty.”

  At the steam-laden chamber, Liel turned to me. “What do we do? Jarryd’s in the middle of all that. And those men have the captain.” His eyes grew big as shock became fear. “Do you think they’ll hurt him?”

  “I think they’ll kill him.”

  “But he hasn’t done anything.”

  “Krillos is Langorian. He’s dressed in a Langorian guard’s uniform in a Langorian prison. That’s all that matters to them.”

  Mulling over my words, Liel looked glum and sick and very young. “I guess some things will always matter.”

  “I used to think so. But that damn pirate in there,” I threw a hand back toward the forge, “is one of the reasons I changed my mind.”

  “We have to go back. We have to help him. You promised, Troy.”

  I took off my cap and handed it to Liel. “It isn’t going to come to that.” I bent down to check the guards. Only one still had a pulse. I hoped it was enough. Moving out onto the bridge, I sat down and straddled it. Spray hit my face. Beneath me was a small river, swirling and churning. I stared at it, contemplating my choices.

  There were really only two. Kill all of them, or kill none of them.

  “I need my sword belt,” I said. “Not the sword. Just the belt.”

  Removing it, Liel slipped off the sheath and handed me the belt. Lying flat on top of the bridge, I wrapped the strap of leather underneath the span and fastened the buckle.

  I gave the leather a yank, testing it. “I need you to trust me, Liel.”

  “Always.”

  “Not always,” I cringed. “Never trust anyone that blindly, especially me.”

  Liel lower his head. I didn’t like scolding him, but at least I made an impression.

  Hooking an arm through the belt, I lowered myself down into the water. It was warm, like a hot spring. The rapid flow pulled at me as I reached my other hand up to Liel. “Take it.” He knelt down and grabbed my hand. “After I cast, we’ll both be dizzy. If my arm slips, the current will have me in a second. If we break contact and my spell sees you as food, I may be too far in to stop. So don’t let go.”

  “I won’t.”

  I closed my eyes on his nervous smile. Pressed for time, I made no effort toward moderation or restraint. I opened up and pulled the magic in from every source at my disposal. The stones on my braces in Liel’s pack, the obsidian inside me, Jarryd’s ring, every band, vein, nugget, and cluster of stone in the room, became mine in one great, magnificent gulp.

  The power settled in. It blew hot through my veins. Color seeped out through my skin. For a split second, I hesitated; thinking of the scars I might gain from channeling so much. And in that breath of quiet, I realized there was something else.

  Another aura was out there.

  I felt it; hovering. It had been there a while, lying patiently, waiting for me to notice. Now that I had, it rushed in— without invitation and without mercy. It didn’t need either, I thought, as the energy pulsed in line with my heart. It was coming home.

  The vibrations pouring over me, I looked up at Liel. “You brought it with you? I told Malaq I didn’t want it.”

  His young gaze blanked. “The shard?” he guessed. “I don’t like leaving it in Kabri. I’m afraid someone will find it.”

  Instead, it found me.

  “Was that wrong? Ian?” he said, when I didn’t answer. “Did I do something wrong?”

  The boy needed reassurance, but it was too hard to speak with the shard’s magic building like a rising storm surge inside me. It overrode the other auras, begging to immerse me in pleasure, to fulfill my desires. All it wanted in return was to be whole. It was a state long gone. So long, it had forgotten the sensation. It had almost given up. But I was here now. I was stronger. I was ready.

  We’re all here.

  The rest were in the background, strangely shy for once. Yet I knew them; the nine auras. How they took hold, with a tantalizing iron grip. How their vibrations were amorous and violent at the same time, suspending my body on the thinnest possible line between pleasure and pain. Their song was the sweetest I’d ever heard. Only they weren’t supposed to be singing anymore. Jem claimed the Crown of Stones was empty. That it had no power. He said I broke it.

  Maybe, I did, I thought. It certainly felt different. The vibrations were watered down. More like an echo than the real thing. And I wasn’t getting the usual seduction. The auras weren’t snuggling up, wanting to please me. They were agitated. Frantic. Jumpy. It wasn’t a good feeling.

  Neither was Liel yanking on my arm.

  He was shouting. Stress thinned his voice. I tried to shove the crown aside then, to focus on Liel. But when I shifted my attention, the magic-scars on my body tingled in protest. Rapidly, heat built inside the patterns. The marks started throbbing. Burning.

  I cried out and got a mouthful of water. It was up to my neck now, sloshing up my nose, spilling down my throat. Yet it was doing nothing to cool me. My body was on fire. The pain was deep, like the scars were eating their way through flesh and bone.

  “Troy!” Liel tugged harder. “Come on, goddamn it… You’ve got to get out. You’re going to drown!”

  But I wasn’t done. I hadn’t cast yet. If I left the water, there’d be nothing to diffuse the hornblende. And whatever was going on with the Crown of Stones, I couldn’t risk casting it. Not with the prisoners so near death. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

  So I fought; against Liel struggling to pull me out of the river, against the constant waves of water and magic, against the sizzling pain of my scars. Needing reinforcements, I turned to what I had so many times before, and grasped for support among the faces of my victims. I pictured Guidon and the last expression he wore, seconds before his body burst apart. The instant he knew I was Death incarnate. It was a look of pure terror; enough to sober anyone.

  Except me, I thought, realizing the image wasn’t tempering me in the least. Watching Guidon die had been far too satisfying a moment; the memory too seductive. But it was more than that. My old tricks were becoming useless. Because I wasn’t struck with the same level of paralyzing guilt that once accompanied my every spell. I wasn’t ashamed of the pleasure. The balance inside me is tipping.

  I needed another muse.

  Turning away from those I hurt, I looked to those I protected. I thought of the promises I’d made to Krillos and Liel. Of the vow I’d made to myself to free Jarryd and help Malaq. They were why I was here. Why I was choking on the water and th
e power. They were intangible as far as shields go. Sentimental, too, I supposed. But I recognized it right away: their trust, their loyalty (and my ability to deserve and uphold it) was the one thing that was stronger than my urge to do harm.

  It was enough to hold me up when falling would have been so much easier.

  Emboldened now, my mind clear, I thought past the pain. I walled myself off from the shard and the crown both. Then I harnessed the magic that remained and threw the spell out. I tried to stay lucid, to not make things worse for Liel. But being magic-blind was a tantalizing balance of erotic and torturous sensations, and I was at their mercy. They chewed me up and spat out what was left, and it wasn’t much. I was cold, wet, and empty. The pain was gone from my scars. All that filled me now was the sound.

  It wasn’t the river. It wasn’t near, or far. It was simply everywhere, muted and low, thumping, beckoning. It was in me.

  A sudden sharp voice overrode everything. “Ian!”

  It was desperate and afraid enough to make me open my eyes. “Help me,” I said.

  Liel tightened his hold. Gripping the belt, lying flat in the water, I pulled my body up and swung a leg up over the side of the bridge. As I climbed on, Liel yanked. Showing more muscle than I knew he owned, the boy hauled me off the span. He dragged me back onto the sandy ground and we both collapsed.

  Winded and wet, Liel coughed out a relieved, “Son of a bitch.”

  I laughed at hearing the boy curse. Krillos was right. He was all grown up now.

  Groaning, I used the wall as a crutch and climbed to my feet. As I helped Liel up, a spark passed between us.

  He rubbed the spot where my hand had been. “What did you do?”