by C B Samet
“He won’t support it!” The brownie pointed a finger at Orrick.
The old man bent over and calmly sniffed his potion. “You, brother, are at an impasse.”
I stopped pacing and turned to look at Orrick. “What good can come of this?”
He grabbed a biscuit out of his bread box and smeared it with a layer of butter. “Good shall come, but the cost will be great. The Queen must go and Abigail must go with her.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I wish Abigail had the time to learn Mother’s magic.”
“It’s not as though she’s defenseless,” Orrick pointed out, as he sat at the table and began eating his biscuit.
I materialized a chair and sat down in it. “She’s not. I’ve a nagging sense of doom about this whole thing, but there’s no way around it.”
“It’s a hurricane, Malakai.” His voice grew gentle. “The only way out of it is through it.”
I nodded solemnly. Surviving the storm was Crithos’ only option.
“Do we get to go, too?” Snake Eyes asked me.
“Indeed we do, friend. We’ll have front row tickets to the calamity.” My tone was dismal.
“Maybe we’ll save the day—like we did when the highway thieves attacked Orrick.”
I smiled. Orrick, Snake Eyes, and I had taken an excursion to Mother’s grave. When my brother had been assaulted and robbed, I’d discovered I had the ability to heal. I’d channeled the power of the stone in my scepter to cure Orrick’s internal bleeding.
I furrowed my brow. “I don’t know, my floating friend. I only succeeded when Orrick served as the bridge between myself and the stone. I can’t recreate the magic without him.” I’d tried on my own and hadn’t succeeded.
“Maybe you can come?” Snake Eyes asked Orrick.
“Oh, no. These old bones won’t have such a trip. My role is here.”
Snake Eyes slumped on the counter. “You need a star tattoo so you can travel anywhere like Abbey.”
“Perhaps.” Orrick scratched his beard. “Those are hard to come by. Only Blue Gypsies distribute those—and not all of them.”
“What’s a Blue Gypsy?”
“They’re nomadic wizards. The only Blue Gypsy on Crithos travels with the carnival.”
Orrick finished his last bite and pushed his plate aside. “Not to worry, Snake Eyes. You and Malakai’s inability to touch your surroundings doesn’t mean you can’t affect them. The two of you, no doubt, will get to play a pivotal role in the events to come.”
I narrowed my eyes at Orrick. “What aren’t you telling me, brother?”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. His eyes held a twinkle, but sadness marred the corners of his mouth. “I’m not telling you.”
I rolled my eyes. “If Abigail and I aren’t the reason evil isn’t being absorbed, what is? And why can’t I sense it?”
“Go back as far as you can. When was the first time you saw Abigail?” Orrick asked.
“The first time I saw her was on my deathbed, in our castle seven millennia ago. I saw her in a dream—or maybe it was a hallucination at the time from the poisoning. She was a little older than she is now.” But just as beautiful. “She had scars on her back, like from a lashing—but well-healed. She didn’t say anything in the dream, but I sensed a connection.” I shifted my weight in my chair. I hadn’t told anyone about that vision—not even Abigail.
“Continue,” Orrick prompted.
“The next time I saw her, I was Malos. Before the Battle of Marrin Beach, her star powers had flickered on and off as she discovered them, and she’d transported to me several times. Then I saw her on the beach, immediately before the battle.” I remembered watching her sleep in the sand, partially covered in a red cape. The evil coursing through me had demanded I kill her. The lust desired other activities—and the greed coveted her Ballik blade. I kept all of those horrible cravings at bay so we could fight on the battlefield as intended. “After that, we fought, and she vanquished me. Five years later, I appeared in her dreams—coming and going with ease.”
“Dreams?” Snake Eyes asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Not like that! Our dreams enabled me to help Abigail in a time of crisis, when the Hunju civil war erupted.”
Orrick steepled his fingers. “But you were only present in her dreams.”
“Yes.”
“Not as you can appear to her now, in wakefulness?”
“Correct.”
“And you can be present in both wakefulness and dreams now?”
“That’s right.”
Orrick’s brow furrowed. “When could you first appear in wakefulness?”
“When the volcano erupted.”
“At the time of eruption?”
I focused to remember precise events. “The volcano began to quake. I foresaw the scepter being destroyed by molten lava if it wasn’t removed. I foresaw the harbor wave that would flatten Misty Isle and kill the villagers. I appeared to Abigail while she walked in her garden, and she transported to the cave.” I remembered how fast she’d responded, trusting me explicitly. I’d still felt ashamed of everything I’d put her through as Malos, but she’d forgiven me. “At the cave, Abigail picked the scepter up off the floor and brought it to her home. Then…”
Orrick’s head snapped up. “Off the floor? Was it normally lying on the floor?”
“No. It had a carved-out shelf in the rock wall. It fell on the floor when the volcano shook.”
“Fell on the floor.” His eyes lulled back in his head as he performed some type of magic. A moment later he said, “The scepter is damaged.”
The word hit me like a physical blow. “Damaged?” It would explain everything—such a simple explanation for why it failed to function properly, and why I couldn’t detect the problem.
Orrick leveled his gaze at me. “Confirm my theory by inspecting the stone in the scepter—but I believe it has a crack in it.”
5
ABIGAIL
After the children were tucked in bed and I’d bathed, I walked through the house—holding my bioluminescent lamp with Fury at my heel. My home felt so peaceful in these hours, with all the waitstaff retired to their quarters and the children asleep.
I entered the library. My library. It was one of the many additions to our home over the past fifteen years. This particular room had been my thirtieth birthday gift. Over the years, we’d added a total five bedrooms, two studies, a sitting room, plus a wing for the steward, cooks and waitstaff. We’d also enlarged the kitchen as a stand-alone building with two stoves and a walk-in pantry.
I stared out of the window and watched the snow fall in the moonlight. The flakes drifted slowly through the air, as if twirling in one final dance before they’d forever rest wherever they landed. In the barn, the horses and sheep would now be huddled together for warmth. The winter had been harsh this year, but our food stores sufficed for the family and staff.
I thought of the many winters to come, each with less time spent with my children. Natalie at the young age of nine, already had plans to study politics. Unlike her mother, she desired life at court. She attended every event to which our family had been invited. She’d dragged me to more than one ball at which brightly-dressed men and women danced and dined. While I hadn’t enjoyed the bustling of it all, I did enjoy watching my eldest daughter socialize.
Natalie had worn every gown the Queen had ever sent her and looked splendidly regal in all of them. With her hair in lovely curls and her face adorned with the latest in make-up, her beauty was eye-catching. She absorbed the attentions of others like a flower does sunlight.
After large events, Natalie would scheme about her future—dreaming of being an advisor to the Queen or her Ministers. She wanted to make policy, shape the future, and a host of other dizzying ambitions that had never interested me. I believed part of her was disappointed in me for all of the things I might have done for Queen and Crithos over the years. Instead, I’d been a chemistry teacher for a while
, until my assistance to the Queen stretched me in too many directions. I’d helped the country with tasks and conflicts, but I’d never basked in the glory—even though I could have profited from it as the Avant Champion.
But Natalie didn’t know the costs I’d paid on the road to becoming the Avant Champion. I’d lost my father in his quest to return the scepter to Mulan and then been separated from my mother during adolescence and young adulthood. During Malos’ invasion, I’d lost my brother Paul—the Minister of Finance at the time. Other friends were lost, too—until I ultimately defeated Malos on the battlefield. The only comfort for all that loss of life had been the exchange of securing peace. I’d read of the bloody, violent war that had preceded our era of peace. I had no desire for myself or my children to live in that world.
Securing peace meant my children flourished on a tranquil farm, where the biggest threats to them were spiders and snakes. They knew no violence except the teasing and hair-pulling to which all children subjected each other.
I sat in the lounge chair and propped up my feet. Fury curled on the floor beside my chair. I pulled a nearby, heavy wool blanket over me. Anonymity let me keep my memories in the past.
I opened my eyes, relieved to see I’d fallen asleep.
“Greetings, Abigail.” Mal lay in the sand beside me, gazing up at a clear blue sky.
The sound of waves lapping on the ocean shore reached my ears. I sat up and turned toward Mal. He wore his familiar black suit, a complement to his black hair and dark eyes. He blinked at me with long, fluttering eyelashes. Annoyance flickered through me at how he obviously knew he was an attractive man—yet, I still felt joy to see him after our time apart.
“Something’s wrong,” I said.
“Yes. You’re still wearing clothing every time we meet on this beach. It’s been twelve years, Abigail. It’s quite ridiculous.”
I shook my head, even though I appreciated being the subject of his lighthearted flirtation once again.
“I’m serious. You listened to all of the discussions today. Evil is rampant in humans. Since your hypothesis that you and I were the problem isn’t true, we need to figure out what is.”
He closed his eyes in a slow grimace.
I stared at his firm jaw-line and full lips, waiting for him to reveal whatever pieces of past, present, and future he’d gleaned.
I remained silent—perhaps holding my breath, if that were something one could do in a dream. I transitioned to slow deep breaths, working on the meditation techniques the monks had taught me. It was supposed to help with fighting, concentration, and balance. I’d discovered it was quite useful as a release from a household of three children.
A battleground of sorts.
“I spoke with Orrick.” Mal’s voice sounded deep and breathless, as though emerging from a long underwater dive. He took a steadying breath. “The stone is damaged.”
I blinked at him. “The scepter’s stone? Damaged? How?”
“The volcano.”
“Merciful gypsies,” I swore. “That was twelve years ago.”
I thought about that night, when Mal had appeared to me for the first time during my wakefulness. I’d transported to the volcano—to the scepter’s cave—where I’d rescued the scepter from the rupturing volcano. After that, we’d stored it in the Queen’s vault for safe-keeping, knowing it would one day need to be returned. Since the Queen had a Star Traveler at her disposal, returning it posed no great feat.
My mind raced with questions. How bad is the damage? Has no evil been absorbed all of this time? How could Mal not tell it was faulty?
“Wait. You said you talked to Orrick. And earlier today you said you went with him to Karnelik.”
“He performed a spell so he can see and hear me now,” Mal explained.
My eyes went wide. “That’s wonderful!”
I thought of the implications that Mal was no longer exclusively tied to me. It also added significance to the fact that although he could have other interactions, he still chose to come back to me.
I forced my focus back on the issue of the damaged scepter. “How badly damaged is the scepter? Why didn’t know you about the damage?”
The last question earned me a narrow-eyed glare.
“The absorption rate is severely diminished, perhaps to a negligible amount. We should go to the vault and inspect the stone.”
“How do we fix it?”
He frowned.
Not encouraging.
I raised my eyebrows at him questioningly.
“It’s not as though this has ever happened before, Abigail. At least not that I’m aware of.”
Prior to sharing dreams with me, when Mal was defeated every millennium, he’d ceased to exist until his time to rise again.
“I’ve only been alive for thirty-eight years, and I’ve broken numerous porcelain vases, and figurines, and glass jars. Surely someone has damaged this thing in the last seven-thousand-years.”
He nodded a pensive expression before rubbing at his square jaw. “You could search the scrolls—the Oxville Library, the Queen’s Library, and the Gunthi Monk Library.”
I gaped at him. “Can you narrow it down a bit? I’d like to fix it during my lifetime!”
“We should talk to Orrick. We should also talk to my mother. We brought back a stone with an imprint of her spirit which can interact with us.”
“Okay.” I reined in my mixture of frustration and disappointment. None of this was Mal’s fault, and he was striving to make a genuine effort to be helpful.
I took a breath and nodded. “I’ll have to focus on fixing the scepter later. The current dilemma is protecting the Queen if she decides on going to Bellos.”
I added, “We don’t stand a chance if this turns into war.” I recreated the pistol in my hands. “It launches a projectile that bursts through flesh. It would have killed Baird if he hadn’t transported to the healing springs.”
Mal nodded dismally.
“How many do they have?” I knew I didn’t want to know the answer.
“Thousands.”
A hard lump formed in my throat. “Thousands of these deadly weapons in the hands of thousands of invaders?” I tossed the pistol with disgust into the sand. It sank as if in quicksand and vanished.
“And why was Prince Stout looking for the scepter? You activate it, and they don’t have you.”
I have you. You are my captive. My caged tiger. My dark and wonderful friend whom I’ve missed.
When he stared at me, my face flushed. I hadn’t said any of that aloud. Had I?
“Perhaps they think they can activate it somehow.”
The power of seven Che stones.
Mother Moon.
“Unless it doesn’t work, because it’s cracked,” I said hopefully.
“My suspicion would be that since I’m still in my pseudo-existence, the scepter has functional capacity. I would also add that on my recent trip with Orrick, I harnessed the power of seven Che stones through Orrick.”
“So, the almighty Avant Counsel that created the scepter didn’t take into consideration that they created a powerful weapon?”
“They did, actually.” His voice turned frostily defensive. “They just assumed that with evil banished there’d be no one with that level of ruthless ambition.”
I respected him enough to dampen my angry tone. “I’m sure no one would have considered it cracking and malfunctioning.”
Mal produced a replica of the scepter in his hands. The amber stone reflected the light from the sun that warmed my dream. It was the size of a large man’s fist. The metal was polished to a swirling silver and copper shine. A large curved blade projected over the scepter.
“Remind me, which stones are part of it?”
“Fire, water, land, wind, health, strength, light.”
I hesitated to ask a question for which I might be most reluctant to hear the answer: “The Bellosian army. Can it be stopped?”
“If I knew, Abigail, I would tell
you, and I would guide you. I swear to you—I cannot see beyond the Queen setting sail for Bellos.”
“I believe you.” I lay back in the sand.
Mal laid on his back beside me. “I see nothing beyond pain and suffering.” His voice was thick with sorrow.
He laid his hand in mine. Rather than feel like human touch, a sensation of warmth without solidarity seeped into my skin.
“Whose pain and suffering?”
“Everyone’s.”
I turned my eyes from the blue sky to stare at the apparition beside me. The embodiment of evil was a dark and handsome man who looked to be in his late thirties. I’d come to understand that although he took his role seriously as the vessel for mankind’s evil, he gleaned no pleasure from it—at least not until he overflowed with evil. He understood his role as Malos—to lay siege every millennium and spare a thousand-fold lives in the interim.
I was always moved and more than a little disconcerted when genuine compassion replaced his debonair smugness.
He noticed my softened expression and smirked. “It could be the end of the world, Abigail.” His voice resumed its seductive lure. “You should abandon care and see what pleasures the darker side can bring you.”
“Mal.” My voice did not carry the scolding tone I had planned. In truth, I appreciated him trying to create humor in a dismal time.
I closed my eyes. “To recapitulate: The amber scepter is flawed—we don’t know how severely, but bad enough that evil men are plotting war against Crithos. I can’t readily fix the scepter until I have a spare thousand hours to search the scrolls. These men want the scepter, which would potentially give them rule over all of Crithos—as if they couldn’t already achieve that given their numbers and their pistols. All of this culminates in pain and suffering—for everyone.”
Mal didn’t reply. I felt a startling sensation as though he gently gripped my hand tighter. A rush of heat spread through my body before I woke.
The next morning, the children resumed their usual routine—Natalie tending to the horses, Paul cooking with Mo, and Rebekah playing with Fury. I dressed in a simple pair of slacks and shirt and left for the castle.
