The Immortal Crown

by Kieth Merrill

  “You may wish to slacken the loop just a bit, m’lord,” Horsemaster Raahud said as the prince walked slowly forward. The horses retreated to the concave wall of rock and crowded into a defensive clump as the circle of hunters closed in around them.

  Qhuin eased the chariot forward, keeping pace with the men and filling the break in the line.

  Sargon walked in front of the milk-whites with a coil of hemp in his hand.

  Kadesh-Cor stalked the chestnut with stealthy, nimble steps.

  The mare turned to her left, then jumped back, confused by the hunters moving closer, tightening the circle. She broke right, and the prince followed. She stiffened her legs and skidded to a stop, then turned back and bolted away.

  The prince lunged forward at the same instant and stopped her flight. He moved forward again with the pole extended, jabbering at the horse nonsensically.

  Qhuin watched with such intensity he felt as if he was the one taking the last few steps toward the chestnut mare. Move to her left.

  The chestnut stared at the prince and pawed the ground. Her hooves threw up a storm of dust and desert crust. She threw her head back with her nostrils flared. The other horses bolted to the left.

  The prince sprang forward as the chestnut whirled to follow the herd. He swung the pole to where she was going and dropped the noose perfectly around her neck. He jerked the hemp tight and wrapped it twice around his waist. He dug his boot heels into the ground and fell back with his weight on the pole.

  “Go!” Horsemaster Raahud screamed. Jehu and Jewuul broke from the line and ran to where Kadesh-Cor was being thrown about by the thrashing horse. The big mare fought the tether with such force she reared over backward and landed on her haunches. Before she could regain her feet, Jehu looped a lasso of hemp around her neck; Jewuul added a third loop. The chestnut scrambled to her feet and reared again, but she was caught in the triangle of ropes.

  She had a small head for her size and a blaze of white on her face. Her forelock was a shag of wild silk. Her legs were long and her body elegant. Her mane and tail were black and swung in graceful swirls as she pranced to escape her captivity.

  “He’s got her!” Sargon exclaimed to Qhuin in a burst of delighted excitement.

  Qhuin smiled and, leaning toward him, said, “Your painted mare’s the better horse.”

  Caught by surprise, the princeling flushed with pride before turning away.

  The horses swarmed together in confusion. The sun was gone. The glow from the high clouds had lost its warmth, and the last light of the twilight sky descended into gray. There was still time. Qhuin knew that with Kadesh-Cor as their leader, the hunt would be triumphant.

  CHAPTER 52

  Sunlight fluttered through blossoms of begonia flowers and danced on Ashar’s face. He opened his eyes. The magnificent blooms climbed a trellis made of glass. Pink petals glowed in the light. The sun was warm on his cheeks, and light replaced the darkness.

  Ashar was curled in a ball on a mat of thick moss, his legs drawn up and his arms folded across his chest. His mind was muddy and his memory blurred. He was in a bower of trees, climbing plants, and a medley of flowers.

  The arch of the roof was a tangle of aged limbs of lemon trees laden with ripened yellow fruit the size of a man’s fist. Their thick trunks were as gnarled as the olive orchards planted by the Navigator that still grew at the temple.

  The bower opened onto a pavilion with a domed roof covered by a rainbow thicket of climbing roses. The ornate iron of the imposts was entwined with grapevines heavy with green and purple fruit. An altar of stones stood at the center of the pavilion at the top of thirteen steps.

  The hallowed fane of Oum’ilah. The reality of where he found himself sent a shiver up Ashar’s spine and left a tingling in his head. How did I get here?

  Ashar rose slowly to his feet and looked about. Three bowers extended from the pavilion. A smaller pavilion at the end of the west passage opened to a garden that was wild compared to the groomed botanical bowers.

  His stomach growled, reminding him that the only food he’d eaten since the beginning of his cleansing fast was a chew of venison. The cleansing fast. The thought ignited his memory with a sputtering of fireflies. The testing. Master Doyan. Blessed Sages. Drakkor, Blood of the Dragon. Murder, blood, and death. The stones of light! His hands tightened on the leather satchel across his chest. Even knowing the stones were gone, his fingers felt for the lumps beneath the leather.

  “The stones of light are safe.” The voice behind him stopped his heart. He whirled to see a man hobbling toward him. The shafts of sunlight bathed his hair in a gossamer glow of white. His face was in shadow, but as he drew closer, Ashar saw who it was.

  “You’re alive!” His shock was replaced by a surge of joy. “You are alive!”

  The Oracle nodded. He looked older. Weary. Discouraged but not defeated. There was no trace of blood on his robe from the near-fatal wound he had suffered.

  “You have the sacred stones . . . is that how . . . ?” He dared not ask.

  “The stones of light can heal the wounds of our bodies but not the wounds in our hearts.” The Oracle turned his head slightly as if he could see the temple and his fallen brothers far below. His face was pinched with sorrow.

  “I thought you were dead,” Ashar stammered in wonder and disbelief.

  The Oracle offered a strange and haunting smile.

  He was dead! The truth came to Ashar in a gasping thought. And he is alive again.

  The Oracle gestured toward the small pavilion at the garden end of the corridor. “Eat and renew your strength. Then we will talk.”

  Ashar sat at the ornate table in the pavilion of the wild garden. Fruit, bread, cheese, and the sweet juice of ripened grapes were prepared and waiting.

  Ashar ate alone. He gorged the first of the morsels to satiate his gnawing hunger and gulped great swallows of juice to quench his thirst. Eventually he slowed, relishing the succulent flavors and delicious tastes.

  “Are you refreshed?” The Oracle’s voice startled Ashar for the second time.

  Ashar’s thoughts were on all that had happened, and he had not heard the Oracle approach. Or did he just appear? Ashar wasn’t sure.

  “It is so good,” he said and swallowed his last bite whole. “The finest food I have ever eaten.” Ashar stood to show his respect.

  The Oracle chuckled. “There are few things better than the fruits of creation with none of our vain embellishments.” He waved Ashar back to the stool.

  “How did I come to be here?” Ashar asked. “I remember we were set upon by the bandits who chased us up the mountain, and I was . . . Where is Rorekk?”

  The Oracle furrowed his brows and shook his head, then laid his fingers on Ashar’s brow. His thumb and smallest finger gently closed Ashar’s eyes. The touch of the Oracle’s hand was cool, but it kindled a quiver of warmth and, to his amazement, he could see all that had happened as if he were watching through a lens of amber glass.

  The basket containing the Oracle’s body rose into the clouds beyond the reach of Drakkor’s men. Rorekk rose with a sword in one hand and a bludgeon in the other as the fallen few recovered and a second assault of bandits charged. The fighting was awful. A slashing of swords and collision of clubs. Their blows bounced off the giant like a stick hitting stone, but their blades drew blood.

  A bandit reached Ashar and raised his sword. A great howl of rage stayed his hand. It echoed among the tombs as if amplified by the gods of war and spirits of the dead. The bandit whirled around. The thunderous bellow came from Rorekk, who erupted from the pounding mob of men.

  Blood gushed from a head wound. His slashed tunic was sodden with blood from a gash in his side. He swung a wooden cudgel, dropping seven men like a reaper with a scythe, then parried the thrusting of swords with his other hand. The violence was astounding. His war cry was shrill
and piercing.

  Ashar had seen Rorekk’s strength in the holy sanctum. He could not help but think that whoever Rorekk was and whatever life he had lived before his service at the temple, he was not the man the Blessed Sages imagined him to be.

  Rorekk seized a man who stumbled backward to escape the whirling mass of destruction. He lifted the bandit above his head as if he were a half-sack of flour and hurled him at the man about to end Ashar’s life.

  The bandit clambered to escape the catapulted body, but stumbled as the flying man in heavy armor crushed him.

  Rorekk grabbed Ashar by the arm, and carried him to the wall. He wrapped a rope around his chest and beneath his arms. Almost before the knot was tied, the rope pulled tight and lifted him away.

  At the same moment, the bandits swarmed over Rorekk, who stood with his back to the wall. It was the last image Ashar saw as his vision ended in a mist of clouds the color of bone.

  The Oracle removed his hand, and Ashar opened his eyes. He felt the warmth of the sunlight. He looked up at the Oracle in wonder and confusion. How is it possible for me to remember what I didn’t see?

  The Oracle answered the unspoken question with a smile. “All that happens is, and thus will always be, and our minds can thereby know things that our eyes have never seen.”

  Ashar didn’t understand the workings of such mysteries, but his last vision of Rorekk, unarmed and under siege, gripped his gut. “What happened to the giant?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” the Oracle said.

  “But I thought . . .” Ashar protested, confused.

  The Oracle shrugged an apology. “If he traded his life to bring you to the hallowed fane, we can be sure it was for a greater purpose. His will be a grand mansion in the clouds of blessings.”

  Ashar swept his gaze across the wonderful, wild garden. “It is very different than I imagined,” he said at last. “I had been told the hallowed fane was a monument to the God of Gods in marble, gold, and precious stones.”

  The Oracle laughed softly. “Ah, the vain imaginings of men. There are but few who truly understand the meaning and purpose of this place. The hallowed fane is not a mysterious shrine of relics that too easily take the place of God. It is an altar of gratitude to the God of gods and Creator of All Things. It is a place of praise to Oum’ilah, whose true and blessed name we must never speak, in thanksgiving for the wonders of the heavens and the earth.

  “A tower of marble and gold and precious stones, no matter how finely wrought, is still a creation of human pride and foolishness. The Codices of the Navigator tell of men of ancient days who aspired to the creative power of God and, in their vanity, tried to build a tower to heaven.”

  “Which was destroyed by the fierce winds,” Ashar said. “We were taught this story as part of our preparations.”

  “The ancient evil has come again. The secret works of darkness return from their hidden places. But there is hope,” the Oracle said as he opened the bundle of black fur on the table. A shaft of sunlight illuminated the clear white stones until they glistened with a thousand facets. “Do you know the story of the sacred stones of light?”

  “Only what I have been taught by Master Doyan.” The Oracle nodded, so Ashar continued. “The Navigator went up to the mountain of Sheseem and did molten out of a rock thirteen small stones. He prayed to the God of gods, who touched them with His finger to light the way of the ships during the great voyage.”

  “And what do you know of these stones of light after the time of First Landing?”

  “Only that they were lost.”

  “I will teach you what you must know. When the voyages ended, the stones of light were taken from the boats and placed into a crown of pure gold, representing Oum’ilah and His ever-watchful eyes upon us. The Immortal Crown was worn by the high priest on holy days and in the temple to invoke the visions of God. To penetrate the veil separating us from the unseen world.” He paused and placed a hand on Ashar’s shoulder. “When the stones are found and restored to the Immortal Crown, the kingdom of light will come again.”

  “How were they lost?” Ashar asked.

  “By the ancient secrets of evil that crossed the great deep.” The Oracle’s face filled with sadness. “From the time of the great tower, a record of secret oaths and signs and combinations of murder was kept. It was supposed to have been buried in the sea, but those entrusted with that task were seduced by evil. This grimoire—and its dark ­secrets—was hidden on one of the vessels, and brought to the new land.

  “In the time of First Landing, the God of gods was cherished. It was the time of the kingdom of light. But by the fourth generation, the Way of the Navigator had been weakened by avarice, pride, and the struggle for power. People returned to the gods and superstitions they knew from the times of the dark tower. Governing councils degenerated into a clamor of rival sovereigns, princes, and lords. Boundaries were drawn and dominions established. Men proclaimed themselves kings by the divine right of the gods. They levied taxes, imprisoned and enslaved their people. They murdered the innocent to appease their superstitions. They sought power and possessions. They were lifted up in pride and seduced by the pleasures of the flesh.

  “By the third century, the dominions of Kandelaar were in the midst of chaos. The stones of light were taken from the Immortal Crown to be traded, bought, and sold as ordinary gems. As their strange powers became known, they were sought by witches and sorcerers and workers of dark magic. The codices of ReMoetr-Gakahn record that the stones of light were gathered by a brotherhood of religious zealots and hidden, lest any man become immortal.” He looked at the glimmering stones on the table. “We believe that the sanctum on the holy Mountain of God is one of four shrines built by the zealots to hide the sacred stones.”

  “Where are the other shrines?”

  “No one knows. Some believe they were erected equidistantly from the ancient altar used by the Navigator himself. But the distance is unknown and the location of the altar is lost, if indeed there was such a place. We do not know how many of the other stones of light have been discovered.”

  “You knew the bandit’s stone was once possessed by the sorceress of Dragonfell. You knew its name. The Swayyus Stone.”

  The Oracle nodded. “I knew by his claim of the power to enter the minds of other men, and also by its color and the quality of the light it gives. A sacred stone perverted by the hand of evil can no longer radiate the pure light of its power. It cannot blaze white because it is tainted by darkness.”

  “Does each stone possess a different power?”

  The Oracle nodded slowly. “According to the oldest copies of the Navigator’s writings, twelve of the stones are endowed with the six powers of godliness: power over body, power over mind, access to the realms of spirits. Dominion over the elements of earth, the boundaries of time, and the limits of space. Two stones endowed with each power.”

  “What of the thirteenth stone?”

  A glimmer of light escaped the deep pools of the Oracle’s eyes. “The thirteenth stone is the god stone. There is little said of it other than it is preeminent over the rest and the keystone to restoring the promise and power of the Immortal Crown.”

  Ashar studied the shining stones, squinting against the brightness. “How does one discern which of the stones possess which power? They are so similar—”

  The Oracle’s laughter stopped him. “Is there no end to your questions?”

  “Forgive me, honored one.” The rote apology bubbled up from years of humble submission. “I’ve misspoken.”

  “No, it is right of you to ask.”

  “Do you believe the seven remaining stones are hidden or . . .”

  “I have faint hope the missing stones rest safely in an undiscovered sanctuary. I wish it is so, but I fear it is not.”

  “How is it possible that stones touched by the finger of God and endowed with
the powers of godliness can be used for evil?”

  “At the dawn of creation, the God of gods endowed his human creatures with intelligence, discernment, and the power of choice. In the hand of evil, the power of the stones comes from darkness, where all things are done in secret.

  “It is only in the hand of the righteous that the stones of light shine with the light that comes from God.”

  CHAPTER 53

  “What is to become of me?” Ashar asked.

  “Can any of us truly know our destiny except by faith and walking beyond the threshold of knowledge? You are who you are, and were before, and you will always be through endless time.” The recitation of the tenet was spoken with familiar cadence, but the Oracle made it personal with his choice of you instead of we. Ashar felt the reality of his endless existence in a way he never had before.

  The Oracle’s voice hardened. “Evil is a force that can change the course of eternity only as we allow it. The Creator of All Things has given us the power to choose our destiny.”

  “What must I do?” Ashar wondered aloud.

  The Oracle’s face softened. “You must do what only you can do. What only one with the blood of the Navigator has the power to achieve.” He looked at the stones on the table. The crystals refracted a pure white light onto Ashar’s face. “Faith is a hope in things not seen that are true. I know you will be tested and tempered, and I have faith you will find the strength to rise to your destiny and the wisdom to triumph over the challenges that await you.”

  “Challenges, honored master?” Ashar ventured.

  “The powers of darkness can only be defeated by the glory of light,” the Oracle spoke in a reverent whisper. “You must find the missing stones of light and return them to the Immortal Crown. You must fulfill the prophecy and open a way for the kingdom of light to come again. You must gather them before more of them fall into the hands of evil.”