The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  Lucen leads me here for a reason, and it is not slaughter.

  She followed the odd urge pulling her forward past dozens of abandoned shops, dwellings, decorative archways, and statues depicting fairly human-like figures, mostly in robes. Here and there, another four-armed man occupied a position of prominence, also holding the crystal, scroll, book, and chisel.

  “There’s gems all over the floor in there.” Marta pointed off to the left with her sword.

  “Touch nothing,” muttered Janna.

  “I’d have to wade past three hundred of those things to get there anyway.” Marta laughed. “No chance of that.”

  Oona continued advancing into the dark. The street widened again, becoming another large open square where stairwells at four corners led down to a pit that may once have been a fountain or pool surrounded by terraces and benches. Nimse spilled over the railing at the top, clinging to the walls inside, trying to follow without coming too close to the painful light.

  She peered over the edge when she neared, picturing small people relaxing or talking, perhaps even swimming in the now-dried up pool. Scratching claws came from everywhere, echoing in the stillness. Oona jumped at a sudden scrape from directly above her. Nimse clung to the ceiling four stories overhead, all peering down at her. They shifted around as if debating their chances of survival if they let go and dropped.

  Fearing they’d dive on her at any second added speed to her step.

  A courtyard abutted the end of the giant fountain/pool area, bordered on two sides by solid walls that stretched forty feet up to the ceiling without so much as a ledge or tiny window. Thousands of glittering points emerged from the darkness at the back end of the alcove. A sense of menace radiated from it, though the urge pulling Oona onward didn’t wane.

  She slowed again, advancing at a tentative pace. Walking into a dead end with so many Nimse behind them didn’t seem like the wisest idea she’d ever come up with, perhaps even more foolish than running away in the night to escape a political marriage and all the pressures of being the princess she wasn’t.

  Her light fell upon an intricately carved façade trimmed in silver and gold at the innermost end of the courtyard. Flashing glimmer danced among thousands of gemstones embedded in support columns, the frames of windows, and around two large onyx doors. A woven gold line pattern similar to the one in the great tunnel decorated the black stone in bands near the ceiling and floor.

  “Wow.” Kitlyn walked up to a column and ran her hand over the gemstones. “This wall is worth more than Lord Parrington’s entire estate.”

  The soldiers laughed nervously.

  “This must’ve been their palace.” Oona approached the double onyx doors, the top of which stood even with her nose. The light orb circled around behind her to stay out of her eyes.

  “Yes. It does look important.” Kitlyn edged past her and pushed at the doors, which opened with surprising ease.

  Oona ducked the low top of the doorframe and stepped into a grand hall. Whitish marble tiles stretched out across a space at least equal to the throne room in Cimril. Round columns of polished black stone glimmered with an uncountable number of tiny flecks. Long banners of rotted yellow, gold, and black fabric hung in tatters along the ceiling. The slightest breath of air upon them would likely cause them to disintegrate.

  “Wow. It’s so beautiful.” Kitlyn crept forward.

  More Nimse emerged from the shadows on either side of the columns, still hesitant to walk into the light. They growled and hissed with greater urgency, as if trying to scare the intruders away from whatever lay deeper in the chamber.

  Oona raised her light over her head again, calling a little more magic to brighten it. The Nimse recoiled as a singular mass, responding with a collective wail. She set her jaw in determination and strode down the aisle between the columns as if visiting a foreign ruler. Please don’t be that walking skeleton I saw in my vision.

  The aura of her light spread into the deeper shadows, revealing a throne of carved onyx with a row of Nimse standing close in front of it. Upon the throne sat a wretched figure neither person nor Nimse, though with a much more human face. The torn remains of a once-grand gown clung to an emaciated frame with a generally female shape. Ink black skin awash with wrinkles covered a body no larger than one of the youngest castle maids. Despite having the stature of a child, her bosom appeared quite adult. Long, white-grey hair spilled down over her shoulders like a tangle of spider silk as long as her shins.

  All eight or so Nimse standing in front of her cringed at the approaching light. They screamed and wailed in pain, but refused to move from their spots. The Nimse Queen raised one small arm to shield sunken gem-like eyes of gleaming amethyst. She hissed, her eerily human-like lips parting to reveal tiny, pointed teeth.

  Oona stopped and urged her light to back up a little.

  “Dim that wretched light,” shouted the Nimse Queen, in a raspy but shrill tone.

  “I shall do as you ask, but only after you command your subjects to back away,” said Oona.

  The queen pointed a talon of a fingernail at her. “You are fools for venturing into the Court of Nazadur! Surface-dwellers are not welcome here.” She grasped the armrests of her throne, leaning forward, snarling like a feral creature. Wispy white eyebrows rose in gleeful anticipation. “For what has been done to us, you shall know suffering.”

  26

  The Queen who Once Was

  Kitlyn

  Kitlyn stepped in front of Oona, glaring at the diminutive woman.

  The row of ‘guards’ continued to squirm and wail under the glare of the light orb. Hissing, the queen snapped her teeth at Kitlyn. Hundreds of Nimse surrounding them mimicked the gesture with a cascading rattle like stone chips clapping together.

  “What has happened here?” Kitlyn narrowed her eyes the moment realization dawned. “You were Na’vir once, weren’t you?”

  The queen snarled, then roared, “Speak not that word!”

  “We do not understand what has befallen you,” said Oona. “We have come to help.”

  “You have come to be eaten,” rasped the Nimse Queen, raking her claw-like fingers at the air. “Feast!”

  The Nimse at the edges of the light grew agitated, tentatively stepping closer but cringing away after mere seconds. All five soldiers pivoted outward, forming a defensive circle with Kitlyn and Oona.

  Donal leaned close and whispered, “They don’t look happy.”

  “They don’t look anything,” replied Janna. “They’ve got no faces… like someone drew eye dots on a pumpkin.”

  “Pumpkins aren’t that round.” Marta chuckled nervously.

  “Please.” Oona took a half step toward the throne. “I want to help.”

  The queen cackled, leaning forward again. “And I want to eat you.”

  Annoyed, Kitlyn raised her arms to the sides, glaring at the wretched creature on the throne. “If that is your only answer, I shall collapse the entire Underholm.” She pushed magic into the earth.

  At her command, the ground shook. Dust fell from the ceiling. Small statues off at the sides of the room fell over. The limitless mass of Nimse all screamed in terror at once.

  The queen’s eyes flared wide in response to the emerald light swirling around Kitlyn. She leaned back in her throne, grabbing two fistfuls of her hair. “No. Please do not. Do not slay all of us.”

  Kitlyn ceased rattling the walls, happy her ruse worked. “We have come to talk, not fight. Give us your word that your subjects will not attack us, and we shall lessen the light that causes you pain.”

  “Talk?” muttered Gwynn. “They can talk?”

  “Yes,” snapped the queen. “My people can talk, but not in your language.”

  The queen looked around at the walls and ceiling. Once the last of the rumbling subsided, she sat up straighter, arms limp in her lap, and nodded to Kitlyn. “Please do not destroy our home any further. For at least as long as you visit us at this moment, my people will cause you n
o harm.” She stood upon the seat of the throne and called out a few sentences in an incomprehensible language, then sat once more.

  Kitlyn blinked, unable to tell where individual words ended or began.

  “You have our thanks.” Oona glanced up. The light orb dimmed from the blinding white radiance to its normal blue. Like a giant jelly raindrop, it plopped down to rest on her shoulder as if tired.

  The Nimse guarding the throne ceased squirming and whimpering, though remained in place. However, none of the creatures in the room snarled anymore, all standing in eerie silence.

  “We know little of you or your people.” Kitlyn took a step closer to the throne. “Please tell us what happened. Are the Nimse and the Na’vir the same?”

  The queen bowed her head, emitting a sad sigh. She shifted her gaze up, still with a hungry gleam in her eyes, but looked down again. “An age ago, many times a human’s lifespan, a surface-dweller came here to the Court of Nazadur. At the time, my people traded openly with both the humans in the west and the Anthari in the east.”

  “Anthari?” asked Oona. “They lived in Evermoor?”

  “Yes. They distanced themselves from humans some time ago, migrating across gateways into another realm. Some Anthari still exist in this realm, but far to the north, and far to the east across a vast ocean.” The Nimse Queen shifted her attention back to Kitlyn. “A surface dweller came from Lucernia in search of forbidden knowledge. Your people would say he wished to draw upon the powers of demons.”

  Oona gasped. “But Lucen drove all demons from our land eons ago. They cannot tread upon the blessed land.”

  The queen chuckled. “Is that what they teach children now?” She shook her head, sighing. “Perhaps demons are uncommon, but there is no magic on your ground holding them back. Your priests have been quite efficient at concealing the ancient ways, hunting down those who traffic with demons, purging them.”

  “Is… that bad?” asked Kitlyn.

  “Likely not.” The queen scratched at her chin, claw-like fingernails scraping like blades on hardened leather. “Demons are rather dangerous.”

  “Forgive the indelicateness of the question, but did the Na’vir deal with demons?” asked Oona.

  “In minor ways, occasionally.” The queen traced a fingernail around the armrest of her throne, etching a faint line into it. “However, you must understand my people were driven only by the desire for knowledge and understanding. To us, learning and thinking are the highest virtues… which is why our fate is so cruel.” She scowled at the side, snarling. “To be reduced to near-mindless animal creatures. It is the greatest torture.”

  Oona clung to Kitlyn’s side, her voice heavy with sorrow. “That’s… I’m sorry.”

  “Some of my people called minor demons into existence, fusing them into items such as lamps or other things as a power source. We understood them to be quite dangerous, so none risked attempting to harness power from anything greater than the most minor of entities. However, as we crave knowledge, we researched and understood how to bind more powerful ones.”

  “By Lucen,” whispered Oona.

  The queen raised a hand. “Knowing the process to do something is not the same as doing it. I’m sure you’re quite aware of how to take that sword of yours and stick it through the girl standing next to you, but you would not do so.”

  “Never,” said Oona, her voice hard yet wavering with sadness at the thought.

  “Did someone lose control of a demon?” Kitlyn gazed around at the ruin.

  “No. Our people were known over great distances for our vast libraries. The surface dweller came here seeking knowledge of powerful demons. I refused to grant him what he sought. He pretended to leave with little protest, though he would soon bestow a curse on me and my people. Many died when the first ones turned into the beings you know as Nimse. Those slow to succumb to the dark magic fell victim to the teeth of their brethren. Eventually, only these pitiful creatures remained.”

  “Y-you’re a thousand years old?” Oona blinked.

  “Something to that effect, yes.” The queen scraped her claw-like nails at the throne arms, the noise shooting tingles down Kitlyn’s back.

  She squirmed, trying to ignore it. “Is that lifespan normal for a Na’vir?”

  “We consider ourselves elderly after about eight hundred years. I was 297 the day the curse took effect. I should be gone by now, but the darkness won’t release me. Perhaps I shall forever exist part way between who I once was and a monstrous creature that desires warm flesh.”

  Oona urged her light orb into the air again off her shoulder, and stepped forward, leaving it hovering behind her. She gingerly reached out a hand and cradled the side of a Nimse guard’s head. The creature appeared to sense her grief for it and simply stood there without growling or much moving at all. “We will break this curse. Will you stop your attacks on the surface?”

  “That happened over a thousand years ago. The man who did this is already dead. Where would we even start?” Kitlyn glanced at her.

  “Come, child,” said the Nimse Queen, before muttering in the indecipherable other language.

  The guards in front of the throne moved aside, clearing a path.

  Kitlyn eyed the space, hesitating.

  “I am surprised surface dwellers would help us after our last dealing with one. But, if you will help, you have my word we shall not harm you.”

  “We…” Oona gave her a meaningful stare.

  Kitlyn forced her nervousness aside. “We will do whatever is within our power to assist you.”

  Oona beamed.

  “Then, come.” The Nimse Queen raised both hands to her like a beckoning grandmother.

  Kitlyn steeled herself and stepped two paces forward. Still standing atop the dais, the queen wound up nearly the same height as her. The small, old creature grasped her face in two cold, leathery hands. Fingernails like the tips of daggers prickled at the skin by her ears, but didn’t cause pain. The elder leaned close as if to kiss her, a stink like a days-dead deer rotting in the woods emanating from her mouth. Her faintly-glowing amethyst eyes widened, and she exhaled a sudden, sharp breath that appeared from her lips as wispy glowing tendrils. A foul-scented breath burst into Kitlyn’s mouth.

  Her surroundings changed in an instant. As if seated on the throne, Kitlyn gazed out over the same room lit like daylight with no apparent source of illumination. The banners overhead appeared intact, and the blurry forms of tiny human-like beings packed the court. A man in his later twenties with long black hair and beard walked toward her, the crowd of blurry, small people filling in behind him. An elaborate mantle of dark fabric topped a robe of crimson. Numerous pouches and small cases hung from his belt. The most unsettling quality came from his stare, as though he would think nothing of killing her should the whim take him.

  Instead of speaking when he stopped in front of her, he aged rapidly into an old man, then appeared to die on his feet before her eyes. His skin dried and turned grey, darkened, then fell away revealing bones and rotten flesh beneath. Despite his obvious lack of life, he glowered contemptuously and stormed off, a long black cloak fluttering behind him.

  The sight of a rotting body added to the taste of carrion in her mouth from the Nimse Queen’s breath and made her gag. She stumbled away from the throne into Oona’s arms, choking for air. “That’s… that’s horrible…”

  “What did you do?” Oona leaned forward, defensive.

  “I showed her the surface dweller.” The queen gestured at her. “Much easier than speaking.”

  Kitlyn flailed her arms, coughing, and grabbed onto Oona’s side. “I’m fine. Just… disoriented. I do hope when you have visions they are not as overwhelming.”

  Oona brushed at her hair, fussing over her like a worried mother. “It varies. Though I’ve only had two.”

  “He does not live, yet he remains.” The queen picked at her hair. “He has stolen my crown.”

  “The man who did this is a walking skeleton,�
� muttered Kitlyn, describing what she saw.

  Oona looked back and forth between her and the queen a few times before shaking Kitlyn. “I saw the same thing! Lucen gave me a vision of this creature. We have to put it to rest.”

  “Where is he?” asked Kitlyn.

  “Voldreth the sorcerer dwells among titans, beneath the elder frost in the halls of stolen memories, a plague to the father of steel.” The queen lowered herself back into her throne.

  Kitlyn blinked. Titans? Actual titans? No, she must mean the Titan Peaks. The Steelfather? He’s on the Ondari side of the mountains. “I think I understand. North, in the mountains.”

  “Titan Peaks,” said Oona.

  “It’s a long way north.” Kitlyn scratched her head.

  “We’re already out of the castle.”

  “True.”

  Oona patted the guard Nimse again and stepped back. “And I want to help them.”

  “You want to help everyone.” Kitlyn grinned. “But this will be more involved than bringing some coins to the temple.”

  “I confess you are right about that. The Na’vir suffered a demon’s curse. Lucen has led us here for a reason.”

  Kitlyn sighed, nodding. “You convinced me already.”

  “Oh.” Oona clasped her hands and smiled.

  “You made up my mind right around the time you said ‘wait, don’t kill them.’” Kitlyn winked at her before turning to face the Nimse Queen. “We will find this sorcerer. Will you agree to cease your attacks on the surface?”

  The queen leaned back, her ancient gown rustling. “I am hesitant to trust the word of surface dwellers, so I will not swear an oath as yet. However, I will grant a short armistice to allow you a chance to keep your word.” She tapped a fingernail a few times on the stone. “You will have ten years.”

  Kitlyn opened her mouth to protest, but realized she hadn’t heard ‘ten days.’ Short armistice? Ten years is short? “All right.”

  “We had better make haste.” Oona gave Kitlyn the side eye, trying too hard to sound serious.