The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne

by C. L. Schneider

  Curled up on the ground near the vacant hitching post, black pelt muddy and matted with gods’ knows what; the eldring babe was the smallest I’d ever seen. I couldn’t tell its gender. The body wasn’t developed enough and there was too much gnarled fur. My rough guess put it at most, six months old.

  Revulsion curled in my gut as I squatted to untie the rope from its neck. The claws on its limp, elongated hands had grown quickly. The curved black talons were twice as long as the fingers they protruded from. Small nubs (the beginnings of tusks) flanked its crushed jaw. Broken teeth, sharp but tiny, lay with the blood on the ground. One fixed, dull sunset-colored eye stared off into nothing. The other hung from its shattered socket, sagging down the eldring’s face, attached only by a few slender, wet tendrils.

  In the gore bathing its mangled hide was the fresh imprint of a Langorian boot.

  If I hadn’t stopped to talk to Krillos, if I’d been a few seconds faster…

  This is on me.

  “I’m sorry, little one. You didn’t deserve this.” I slid my hands underneath the flaccid body. As I lifted it from the mud, it felt too fragile; impossibly light as I stood. Turning, I caught sight of Krillos, standing in the threshold of the open tavern door. His Rellan face, as I held the dead eldring babe against me, wore a peculiar expression.

  He walked out, letting the door swing closed behind him. Whatever was on the tip of his tongue, he stowed in the wake of my glare. “What are you going to do?”

  “Bury it.”I walked off. Pausing, I glanced back. “I won’t do it.”

  “You won’t do what?”

  “Draken. I won’t heal him. Malaq should never have asked.”

  “Malaq doesn’t have a lot of choices. And this peace you want will only come through war. If Langor’s army loses faith in Draken’s ability to lead—if they don’t see their King is behind them—they won’t fight. Langor will fall.”

  “Then it falls!” I shouted over his responding angry grunt. “Maybe that’s what will it take! Maybe Langor needs to know what it feels like to lose. To be trampled on,” I said, glancing at the bundle in my arms. “To be crushed.”

  “You crushed us once already, Troy. You eliminated near an entire generation of Langorian men when you wielded the Crown of Stones.”

  “I know what I did,” I shot back. “And Langor wasn’t the only realm to suffer at my hand. A generation of Rellans died that day, too. Arullans died. Aylagar died,” I said with weight. “But I’m not talking about killing your kinsmen, Krillos. I’m talking about breaking them. Stripping away their arrogance and superiority. Humbling them.”

  “Is that what your father’s going to do when he seizes the realm? Teach my kinsmen to be decent and humble? If you think that, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

  Anger in my stride, I advanced on him. “I wanted Draken to be dead, Krillos. I needed him to be.”

  “I get that.”

  “Do you?” Desperation raised my voice. “I needed something to have gone right, to know something I did made a damn bit of difference. That Fate hadn’t already thrown his fucking dice, and I’m not just here to watch it all go to shit. I needed to know their death’s counted, that we didn’t lose Liel and Kit and Neela, and all the rest, for nothing.”

  “You think I don’t feel the same way? Kit is in my thoughts every damn day. I still feel her dying in my arms. I try to remember how it was to hold her before, but…all I remember is her cold body and her warm blood on my skin. And that stupid, Kaelish kid…” Tossing his head, Krillos let out a resentful, grief-darkened laugh. “I think about Liel and his stupid face and I wonder… If I’d stayed at Darkhorne with you, if I’d been there, could I have kept him alive?”

  His admission went a long way toward dissolving my anger. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Just know that it’s not all on you. Not the regret, or the sorrow, not what happened or what’s going to happen. And if it is…then your god, B’naach, truly is one hell of an ass.”

  I stared at Krillos, wanting to believe he was right, but thinking: he doesn’t understand. He hasn’t seen what I have. He had no idea how much could go wrong. I did. An accidental five year visit into Mirra’kelan’s future had shown me a broken land. A land where everyone I cared about was dead. It made hearing Draken was alive now, as he was then, even more devastating.

  Krillos gestured at the dead eldring. “You want help?”

  My first impulse was to say no. I ignored it. “Sure. We can find a place in the woods.”

  “Hold on. I’ll grab some bottles.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Necessary?” he guessed, starting back toward the tavern. “I’m a one handed ditcher digging a grave for an eldring baby. Trust me, Shinree…it’s never been more necessary.”

  EIGHT

  I watched them together, father and daughter. Little more than eight hands tall, she was barely able to stagger about. Wispy white curls framed her face. Her white eyes were large and vigilant. They sprinted about, afraid to miss a single thing. She released an ecstatic, startled gasp as her father lifted her up into the air. Giggling, spreading her short arms and pretending to fly, she had no concern for the dark, cave walls around us. No understanding of the bloody raid that led us here, or the five hundred years our kind has lived in captivity. Being Shinree meant nothing to her. She had no grasp of politics or war, no concept of what it was like to be herded like sheep. She was ignorant of the addiction that would soon strike her. The death her spells would cause or the hunger that would consume her if she denied her body its due. In this moment, there was only her father. He was her world.

  I’d missed that opportunity. I’d never had the chance for such innocent eyes to gaze at me. By the time I discovered I had a daughter she was too old to look at me with naivety. Being blind, she couldn’t look at me at all.

  I turned away from the man and his daughter and faced Sienn. Sitting on the rock across from mine, the skirt of her plain, moss colored dress was pulled down over her knees. A rent split one sleeve. An old stain streaked the bodice. The hem was too short for her height, leaving the entirety of her worn, brown boots visible. The frayed laces and the state of her dress were blatant reminders of how little remained after the raid on our camp.

  Watching me, Sienn cocked her head. “Are you even trying?”

  I was honest. “Not really.”

  “How can I help you access it if you refuse to try?”

  “I don’t want to access it. I want to get it out.”

  Sienn sighed like she was done with me. She probably was. It had been nearly an hour with next to no progress. Most of our sessions had gone the same way lately, and we both knew whose fault it was. All that had saved me from Sienn’s wrath was her inability to muster any. My father had removed Sienn’s battle spells along with the emotions that sparked them. But while she wasn’t capable of outright anger, exasperation was another matter.

  Sienn brought her hands to her lap, folded her slender fingers, and tried again. “You attempted to repair the Crown of Stones by pulling the whole of its magic deep inside you. It was incredibly courageous,” she said, making me smile. “And incredibly irresponsible,” she added, and my expression fell. “You absorbed its nine auras so deeply that half the time you can’t feel them. The other half, you can’t control them. We lost the crown to the enemy, and even if we had it, you have no idea how to put the power back inside the artifact. So in the meantime, you must be able to live with it. What that means,” Sienn said formally, like she was giving instructions to one of her young students, “is first accessing, then isolating, the auras. In doing so, if they wake arbitrarily, you can ward them off. If you can accomplish this to the point of acting without thought, we can move on.”

  “To…?”

  “Controlling your cravings. In more practical ways than you have thus far. You must learn to have mast
ery over your own body, Ian. You can’t allow the moment of being magic-blind to have such power that the notion of its absence strips away reason. Once you have accomplished that…” her stare flitted over the black scars decorating the left side of my face, “you can safely unleash what is in you without—”

  “Becoming an eldring? A freak, like my father?”

  A dent formed in her brow. “That will not happen.”

  It already is. I wanted to tell her, but she was worried enough. “You’re right. I need to get a handle on this or I can’t save anyone.”

  “You mean Lirih?” Distress sprung into my eyes, and hers softened. “Do you think I’m blind to how her disappearance haunts you? You wear it in your stare. But rescuing her is out of the question until you can safely access the crown’s magic.”

  I sat back with a sharp exhale. I’d gone round and round about Lirih’s safety and my inability to do a damn thing about it with what felt like everyone in the caves. I was tired of it.

  “I know you’re impatient,” she went on. “You fear Jem will learn Lirih’s identity. But such a discovery might actually afford her some protection.”

  “I’m his son, Sienn. He tortured me for two years. Do you think he would spare his granddaughter any more than a stranger?”

  Sienn didn’t answer, but I knew what she was thinking. She’d been victimized by my father right along with me. We’d shared some of the worst moments of our lives. But our suffering hadn’t brought us together. It was wedged smack in between us.

  The other races called what I did to her an arranged breeding. I called it rape. It didn’t matter if I was drugged and coerced, that we were both beaten if I refused. My mental state wasn’t an excuse. My father’s manipulations meant nothing. His insistent persuasions, his painful urgings—that only a child born of two erudite would be strong enough to free our people—were irrelevant. It hadn’t been his hands holding her down.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “Let’s start over. What do I do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I thought we covered that.”

  Sienn smiled. Her white eyes sparkled. I tried not to like it. “Focus on yourself. Let go of what Malaq wants from you. Forget what Jarryd expects and what Lirih needs. Concentrate on what you want, Ian, on what motivates you to keep going. Search your soul and find the one thing you desire more than any other. Let it satisfy you instead of the magic.”

  “Isn’t that just trading one obsession for another?”

  “While you can be addicted to what inspires you, addiction and inspiration are not the same. To let go of one, you must find the other. When you know what moves you, what makes you feel like nothing else can, you hold it in your thoughts. Cling to it. When the magic starts to overwhelm you, let that one precious thing wrap you in its warm embrace. Let it sustain and support you. Find your inspiration, Ian. Acknowledge how it spurs you. Allow it to stroke your frayed nerves. Let it become the object of your lust and the source of your comfort. When your want of this thing exceeds your want of magic, when it can calm you when the anger becomes too much, then you can learn to control the cravings.”

  Sienn stopped talking. I wanted her to go on. Her breathy voice, her wisdom, the passion with which she spoke, touched something in me. Sienn’s insight and intelligence was stirring. The way she saw magic challenged my thinking. Yet it wasn’t merely her words that had moved me, it was the glimpse I’d been given into the woman’s soul. Her inner beauty was mesmerizing.

  “Your concentration is off,” she said.

  I laughed. “A bit, yeah.”

  Our eyes met. A blush crept over her cheeks. The little girl behind me squealed, and Sienn took the opportunity to glance away. I followed her gaze over my shoulder. The father was flying his daughter around the cave again. The happiness on them both brought me to a decision.

  “I want to try something.” I turned back to Sienn. “A spell.”

  “That may not be a good idea.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t been casting.”

  “I’m aware. Has the crown woken outside our sessions? Are there any new scars?”

  “It wakes, now and then.” I didn’t answer her second question.

  “Don’t fool yourself, Ian. You’ve made no strides in this. You’ve simply cast nothing of consequence. Only minor workings when needed to slake your appetite.”

  “That’s not exactly true.” Her brow lifted, and I added, “I’ve been careful.” Mostly, I thought. “But I can’t afford to be anymore. Malaq is back. Draken is alive. And my reprieve is over. I need to get a handle on this. But what I’m asking is for you to cast on me.”

  Confusion tightened her stare. “Explain.”

  “I want you to do an oracle spell.”

  “To what end?”

  “Finding Lirih. Tracking spells aren’t working. Jem’s clearly taken steps to block them. But Lirih bears my blood. With an oracle spell I can enter her recent past. Maybe I can figure out where she is, or at least where she was. I know it’s a stretch.”

  “It’s more than that. If she’s taking Kayn’l the spell won’t latch on. And you can’t see through her eyes.”

  “I might hear something or pick up a clue. It’s worth trying.”

  “Have you considered the possibility that she’s dead? It would explain the failure of your tracking spells.”

  It was a punch in the gut, but I stowed my anger. Sienn didn’t mean to be insensitive. Sometimes, she just was. “I haven’t considered it. And I won’t. Lirih’s not dead.”

  Sienn looked inclined to disagree, but she let it go. “Sending you into such a tight window will require great concentration.”

  “You can do it. I trust you.”

  Gratitude softened her expression. “Trust does not come easy to you. So I will do my best. But I ask the same of you.” Sienn’s hands unfolded and slid to her knees. “For you to inhabit someone who is likely under great emotional or physical distress will not be easy. Soak up what sensations you can, as quickly as you can. Then get out.” She waited for me to nod. “As you know, oracles often act as a guide to help explain what the traveler has seen when they return. This can put a drain on the caster and shorten the vision. I will instead remain behind to give you what time I can. Now, give me your hands.”

  Sienn turned hers over and held them out. Her skin was on the pale side. Her fingers were long and graceful. I remembered them on my skin. I remembered what her hands had done to me in the consensual encounters we’d shared. But those were few and brief, and I hadn’t touched Sienn in an intimate way in a long time. The last thing I wanted was for her to misinterpret my hesitation, so I offered my hands, and the warmth of her grip enfolded mine.

  Starting slowly, Sienn altered her breathing. She inhaled, long and deliberate. Her exhale was equally methodical. With it, the tiny stones braided into the crown of her long, white hair, shimmered and pulsed. Their rainbow bled out, creeping into the crystalline strands that framed her face. The kaleidoscope of color churning in her eyes made my heart quicken. It beat faster watching her small breasts rise and fall with slow, purposeful breaths.

  My mouth went dry at the sight of her.

  Sienn’s eyes closed. The strong contours of her face relaxed. Her shoulders and neck followed. Her thin lips parted slightly as a sense of tranquility overcame her entire body. It was a looseness that said nothing tethered her to the world. No weight or pain was strong enough to hold her down. She was magic, and power, and beauty. She was magnificent. Ethereal.

  When Sienn channeled magic, deep and focused like she was now, it was the only time I could look at her openly without remorse or embarrassment. I could take my fill of her, and it didn’t hurt.

  Eyes still closed, she spoke. “To accomplish something this delicate and narrow you will need to do better than you have. Set aside your distractions. Fill your
mind with Lirih. Hear her voice. Breathe in her face. At the same time, release your surroundings. Breathe out the walls of the cave. Separate and discard the noise and the voices, until you hear only mine. Take your time, Ian. I want to be sure you’re ready.”

  Her suggestion was clear. My performance of today worried her. But I knew how to separate myself from the moment—when I absolutely had to. There was a time when abandoning distraction took true effort. As a boy, my anger and impatience often got the best of me. It was worse after my stint in the Rellan army. Wielding the Crown of Stones in a rash attempt to end the war had left me struggling for abstinence and subsisting on a steady diet of guilt, grief, and wine. Serenity came only when I passed out.

  That changed when Fate put a young, impetuous, Rellan messenger in my path.

  Jarryd Kane was no more level-headed or patient than I was at his age. From our first meeting, I found his views on my past deeds bewildering. His acceptance: irritating. Jarryd saw the world, and me, in ways I never had. His outlook had become even more different since his ordeal at Darkhorne. Yet, even with all that was unsettled in our lives, I was far better with him than without. I couldn’t always pinpoint why, or recognize every instant when the influence of his soul was at work, but being bound had given me a sense of internal balance I’d never had. Jarryd’s presence was a jolt of strength or calm when I needed it. He was the quiet little voice in the back of my head that wasn’t always quiet. And I didn’t always listen. As a Shinree soldier, embracing the mayhem was sometimes required. This wasn’t one of those times.

  Drawing on the full extent of the equilibrium my link with Jarryd could provide, I mirrored Sienn’s preparations. I slowed my breathing, closed my eyes, and pushed everything aside. Thoughts tumbled away. Emotions stilled. My surroundings became nonexistent. I emptied myself out like a pitcher of water onto the ground, tipping slowly higher, inch by inch. I released thoughts, hopes, fears, sensations, until the last drop slid free of the lip. It hit the puddle of what I’d shed and disappeared, leaving me with nothing but the feel of Sienn’s skin on mine. No sound but the calm workings of her lungs. That vanished as well, as our breath fell into the same steady rhythm and became one.