“So what are you?”
“Rude,” the cat said. “Where I come from it is considered polite to ask someone only who they are, not what they are.”
“Okay, who then?” Jason asked.
“I am Remi.”
“I’m Wu Song. Jason.”
The cat closed her eyes. Her tail kept twitching.
Jason waited for her to say something more. “So I shouldn’t go that way?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Should I go back the way I came?”
“I wouldn’t do that, either.”
“What would you do?”
The cat opened her eyes again. “It seems likely I would sit in a tree and take a short nap.”
“But if you weren’t a cat, I mean.”
“I’m not a cat.”
Oh, right. “If you were a human, I mean.”
The cat grunted. “Don’t be gauche.”
Jason leaned against a tree trunk. “What would you do, if you were me? That’s what I’m trying to ask.”
“I would ask someone for help, probably. Because I would recognize that I was a helpless baby lost in the woods.”
“Remi?”
“Yes?”
“Could you help me out here?”
Remi sighed and stood on the branch. She put her back half up in the air and stretched her front paws out as far as she could, her claws kneading the bark of the tree. “I don’t suppose I’ll get any rest until I do.” Then she unfurled her wings and flew to the ground, lighting at Jason’s feet.
The wings folded up again, tucking tight against her back. They were covered in feathers that were the same color as her fur: a patchwork collection of white and brown and tan. Jason had to admit it was surprising. The Sunlit Lands always threw a new twist at you right when you thought you had it all figured out. “You have wings,” Jason said. He found that restating the ridiculous things happening around him made them feel more real.
“All my life,” Remi replied.
“So you’re a flying cat.”
“I am not a cat,” she said crossly.
“A winged cat, I mean. I’m just saying, a cat with wings, not an ordinary cat.”
Remi sat up straight, her green eyes piercing. “Do cats have wings?”
“No.”
“Do I have wings?”
“Yeah, you sure do.”
“Then I am not a cat. QED.”
“I can’t argue with that logic.”
“No. You certainly cannot.” Remi licked her front paw for a minute. Jason waited patiently. “Let us free your green friend from the Zhanin. Then we will get you on your way, and I will take a nap.”
“Great,” Jason said. “Thanks.”
Then he followed the flying not-a-cat into the deeper darkness of the trees.
21
PASTISIA
Stay away from Pastisia. Necromancers, dark wizards, reprobates, scoundrels, liars, and thieves. And those are just the children.
LENIA OF THE SOUTHERN COURT
Darius and Break Bones stood at the bank of windows in the airship’s dining hall, looking down on the city as they came ever closer. The city was impressive. Tall, thin towers stood at multiple places. Unlike the white towers of Far Seeing, these were many different colors—lacquered red, blue, green, and yellow. They reminded Darius of the onion domes of Russia, but taller and more slender. A few had wide platforms built at the top. People glided between the towers in fantastical machines, hang gliders, and even suits with gliding material stitched between the arms and legs. Hanali had explained that the towers were for the airships to dock. Airships did not ever land—they moored at the towers. Passengers had to descend to the city below.
“I thought necromancers would have more lava, skulls, and smoke,” Darius said. Darkness and lightning and evil caves were typical for necromancers in novels.
“Corrupted hearts can appear even in such an idyllic setting,” Break Bones said. “We may yet see lava and skulls before the day is done.”
Perhaps the strangest part of the city, however, was the arc of a gleaming crystal dome which stood behind it, rising over the city and disappearing into the heavens. Darius tried to get a clear look, but his mind rebelled at the sheer enormity of the thing. “What is that dome?” he asked Break Bones. “Is that part of the magic here?”
Break Bones looked at him sideways. “They are the crystal spheres,” he said. “Surely you know of them.”
“No.” Darius looked at the way the sunlight seemed to strike the crystal at a strange angle. The dome went as far as he could see, disappearing in the distance.
“They are the sky of the Sunlit Lands. The nearest is the sphere of the sun. Then comes the moon. The stars are on another sphere, and then the four planets on increasingly thin and distant spheres. They each move in their own way and at their own speed.”
“I thought all that talk of spheres and crystals was metaphorical.”
“Not at all,” Break Bones said. “Have you not noticed the way the stars move when they rise?”
He had, in fact, noticed that the stars—rather than the brightest appearing in all different places in the sky like back home—rose into the night sky like a blanket of lights being pulled over the roof of the Earth. “So this place is on the edge of the world. That crystal dome rises over the whole thing?”
“Indeed,” Break Bones said. “Do not get too close to the edge. You do not want to fall into the gears of the world.”
One of the strange side effects of life in the Sunlit Lands was that Darius was never certain when people were joking. But it was wise to be on the safe side. Darius would be sure to give the edge a wide berth.
Darius looked over his shoulder, making certain they were alone. “Break Bones. They have taken the Sword of Years and not made any offer to return it. My mask was taken by Rondelo and his people. Now we’re wrapped up in someone else’s schemes. I’m not here to put Hanali on the throne of the Elenil. What do you say?”
“I am with you, heart and soul,” Break Bones said. “Whatever comes, the Scim people are crying out for freedom, not another Elenil ruler. Which means that even if we must secure our own freedom first, from Elenil or Pastisian or human or Aluvorean or whatever people may come, then so be it. I will not rest until there is justice for my people.”
Darius studied the city below, looking for any information that might be of use. “I don’t know their plans for us. I do know that necromancers are magicians who are in touch with the dead, and I can’t help but think that’s a bad idea.”
“Hanali seems unwise to bargain with them. Yet he has always been a canny planner.”
Darius stroked his chin. “War between the Pastisians and the Elenil might be to our advantage. But if we decide it isn’t, then we leave here and go back to Far Seeing. Maybe we can still get face-to-face with the archon.”
Break Bones let out a long sigh. “Ah, to battle into the heart of that tower was a joy I cannot bear to repeat. Would the terror in the eyes of the Elenil be the same as then, when they realized that for the first time in their history a Scim in war skin stood upon the stairs to the seat of their power? Ah, I think of it often. If Madeline and Wu Song had not been there, perhaps I would have already killed Archon Thenody.”
Darius smiled at his friend. These rapturous remembrances of past battles always made him laugh, even if it wasn’t how he remembered them. More than once he had awoken in the night, terrified by some nightmare of his battles against the armies of the Elenil. It might not be so bad if the Elenil didn’t use human soldiers, but Darius felt an internal struggle that Break Bones didn’t seem to. It wasn’t something unique to the Sunlit Lands, either. Back on Earth he had often tried to set aside his anger about injustices he saw, but he struggled to do it. The injustices, even if you fought against them, might change, but they didn’t disappear. In Madeline he had found peace. When he was with her, he felt like he was in some sort of bubble where injustice wasn’t done to
him. It was the strangest thing. She believed in him, and while she didn’t understand all of his experiences, she didn’t contribute to making them worse, ever. In fact, she seemed to not only see who he was, but to see him as someone better than he was. How could he not fall in love with someone like that?
They drifted closer to the city. There were shouts and cries from the airmen as they prepared to connect the airship to the slender wire of the tower. The airmen wore tight black clothing, with heavy coats and boots, silver masks which covered their mouths, and thick goggles over their eyes. Darius hadn’t seen a single one without them, and he had only seen the airmen climbing on the outside rigging of the ship. On the inside the ship had been largely empty since he and Break Bones had left their room, with the exception of when they were fitted for their uniforms.
“You look dashing,” Hanali said, carefully entering the room. Hanali had to be careful, because he wore a cape with gigantic epaulets that swept up on either side of his head like ocean waves. It ended in a long, full train that dragged behind him. Darius could not imagine how Hanali had managed to get through the narrow passageways elsewhere on the ship. The Elenil turned slightly to each side, inviting a comment on his own clothing.
“You look . . . ornate,” Darius said at last.
Hanali’s face brightened. “Ornate! That is a new description.” He looked Break Bones up and down. “And you, sir Scim. You look—”
“Uncomfortable?” Break Bones gave him a sour look. “Then your eyes have revealed reality to you.”
Mrs. Raymond’s servants had dressed Darius and Break Bones in crimson uniforms, the livery of the Queen’s Guard. Darius had objected to this, not having aligned with her as a ruler, but she had assured him it was the only way he would be accepted in Pastisia—where he had not wanted to go in the first place. Nevertheless, he now wore heavy black boots that came nearly to his knees, with slim pants that tapered into the boots. A white shirt with silver buttons and a high grandfather collar, open at the front, was covered by a crimson jacket with gold trim and tails that fell midthigh behind him. The cuffs of the coat had been cut wide to make room for his shackles, so they fell easily behind the cloth, which covered them completely. He had to admit that “dashing” was likely the best word to describe him. He liked it. After he’d gotten dressed, he had found himself grinning in the mirror, and then he practiced several serious looks. He’d like Madeline to see him like this. He stood taller at the thought of it and grinned again. He looked like royalty, like someone in charge. Who knew uniforms would be such a good look for him?
Break Bones wore a similar uniform, which was less than flattering on the enormous Scim. He looked like someone had forced a pet to wear a Halloween costume. He strained and pulled and rearranged every few seconds. Darius had no doubt he would be tearing himself out of the uniform at the first opportunity.
“You have noticed, no doubt, that we are docking,” Hanali said. “In a few minutes we shall disembark together with Mrs. Raymond. There are a few minor aspects of genteel behavior I wish to impress upon you, as humans are often ignorant of such things, and Scim often ignore them.”
“Then ignore them I shall,” Break Bones said.
Hanali frowned at him and then continued. “The king is to be treated with respect. He is not one to trifle with or to make flippant comments to. Thank the Majestic One that Wu Song is not with us, as that boy’s mouth would be our end. Remember, these are necromancers—people of dark magic. They speak across years, across worlds, and across the barrier of death itself. They listen to the advice and ideas of the dead. They are a savage people, willing to cross any line for power. As such, they see death in a different way than others and will not think twice before killing you or, more importantly, me.
“But without their help, we will continue as we are: the Scim locked forever in their parasitic arrangement with the Elenil, living in darkness and poverty—at war, but afraid to strike a decisive blow. The Elenil, who could sweep over the Scim as a wave, will be unable to bring either justice or destruction to the Scim for fear of losing all. If the Pastisians intervene on the side of right, they could tip this whole war into our hands.”
“Our hands?” Darius asked, skeptical.
“The Scim, of course,” Hanali said. “Or close enough. Surely we can agree that the Scim would be better served with an open-minded Elenil such as myself on the throne?”
Mrs. Raymond entered, wearing a bright-red dress, fitted in the bodice and flaring slightly as it descended from her hips. She wore a simple, understated silver band on her forehead, which Darius took to be a crown. There was a black band on her left bicep. She was flanked on each side by a human teenager wearing the same crimson uniform as Darius and Break Bones. Hanali tried to turn toward her, but his train was too long and his shoulders too wide. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I am not able to turn,” he said.
“Keep your foolish titles to yourself, Hanali,” she said, her voice severe. To Darius she said, “Has Hanali warned you to be respectful?”
“Yes.”
“Then come with me, and we will make our arrival known. Darius and Break Bones, you will walk on my left and on my right. Do not speak unless spoken to. Hanali, once you manage to extricate your outfit from the airship you may join us. Remember that you are all here as my guests, but it has been years since I have come here. We have heard rumors the Pastisians are preparing for war, or Hanali would not be here. Things may not be as they once were, and I cannot promise you protection, only a fair hearing.”
Hanali clapped his hands together in glee. “So exciting!”
“Come along,” she said, pulling on long white gloves. She led them down a long passageway, then down several flights of stairs.
“Should we have weapons?” Darius asked, doing his best to stay close to her in the narrow passages.
“They would not save you,” she said. But as they came to the door which appeared to be the exit, Darius saw the Sword of Years sitting upon a table, unsheathed, beside Break Bones’s great stone ax. “Put it upon your belt,” she said.
Darius did, noticing a narrow loop in the leather for the first time. He could not sheathe the sword. It would not be sheathed again until it had drunk the blood of all Elenil who had brought injustice upon the Scim. The moment he put his hand on the pommel a weight descended on him, nearly driving him to his knees. The sword was thirsty. It twitched against his hand, desperate to make its way backward through Mrs. Raymond’s attendants, to where Hanali stood alone, his outfit touching both walls and the ceiling. Darius slid the thing into the loop of his belt and felt a small relief.
A wide, oval door—like an enormous egg set on its side—loomed before them. One airman stood inside, his silver mask expressionless. Through a glass porthole Darius could see another airman leaning forward, one hand on the hull of the ship, the other holding a long rope. To his left yet another airman, mirroring the second. The wind whipped the ship hard enough that it shuddered. Then the two airmen on the outside of the ship leapt toward the tower in unison. They grabbed hold of a long, flexible pole attached to the tower. It had holes in it—they threaded the ropes through them and pulled tight. Then other airmen did the same, tying the ship to the tower in fifteen or so places.
“May I open the door, lady?” the airman inside asked, bowing his head toward Mrs. Raymond.
She nodded, and he threw several locks and swung the door wide. The wind whipped into the cabin, fierce and cold. The two airmen at the tower reached long-handled hooks to loops in the metalwork alongside the door, then slid a long plank up the hooks and into the side of the ship. It fell into place with a thump. The airman beside them asked permission to be the first to disembark, which Mrs. Raymond granted. He ran down the plank, connecting cleverly concealed cables from the bottom of the plank onto the long hooks, which now served as handrails. Once he was on the tower itself, he bowed and gestured to Mrs. Raymond.
She looked to Darius. “My guards must precede me.”
Darius did not hesitate. Heights didn’t scare him, and neither did necromancers or swords or death, for that matter. He strode down the plank. The city was a long way down . . . he guessed forty stories or so. Okay, he might be a little scared of heights. This was definitely far enough up that he’d have time to regret his poor decisions before he hit the ground. The wind caused the plank to sway, and he nearly lost his footing. He grabbed for the rails and held them the rest of the way down. He wondered if he died here, if the necromancers would talk to him about it afterward, or if he’d be in their power in some way. He didn’t want to find out. When his boots hit the platform, Darius nearly sagged in relief.
Break Bones came after, but slower, more careful. They stood at either side of the plank and waited for Mrs. Raymond. She walked down without a single look below, and when the wind blew the plank, she did not touch the rails, merely shifted her weight and continued walking with the practiced confidence of one who has done the same many times.
The top of the tower had no walls or barriers to keep one from the edge, the only barrier being one’s fear or good sense. A trapdoor opened onto a set of stairs. Mrs. Raymond pointed to it, and Darius led the way. The moment he stepped into the stairway he shivered in thankfulness for the end of the monstrous wind. He followed the stairs down, one hand on the hilt of his sword. They led to a wide receiving room, which was empty of furniture but had windows all along one edge, each of them facing toward the city, as if the most important thing to know when you arrived was whatever was happening in the streets below. They were on the very edge of the city now, which stretched from this tower to the end of the world, the crystal sphere of the sky.
When they had all descended the tower, Mrs. Raymond arranged them. “The king will greet us here,” she said. “He will decide who will continue into Pastisia and who will be sent away. If not the king himself, then certainly one of his advisors. Hanali, stand there. Darius, Break Bones, here on my right.” When all were arranged to her satisfaction, facing two wide, black doors, she held her hands together at her waist. “Now be silent,” she said.
The Heartwood Crown Page 22