The Heartwood Crown

by Matt Mikalatos

  Everyone stood still. There was not so much as the whisper of cloth. Darius could hear his own heartbeat, his own breathing. The double doors opened, and they did not make a sound either. There was only darkness beyond. Even with the light of the windows behind them, he couldn’t see anything beyond the threshold of those doors.

  Then a golden face appeared. A mask. The man who wore it was tall, at least six and a half feet, and the mask moved toward them with a smooth and sinister gliding. As the man stepped into the room, the shadows seemed to cling to him. It took Darius a moment to realize it was not shadows at all but black robes which covered him head to toe. As he moved, Darius saw flashes of the man’s arms and legs, also clad in black, from his boots to his gloves. Darius’s hand went without thinking to the hilt of his sword, and his hand clenched it, ready to pull it free, to cut through his belt if need be to get it into the air quickly enough to strike down this monster.

  Mrs. Raymond curtsied low and did not rise again. Around Darius, all the soldiers took a knee. Break Bones, too. Even Hanali managed to lower himself to one knee. Darius could not do it. The vulnerability it would require . . . This man, this necromancer, would be able to tower over Darius and destroy him. The man was close enough now that he could see the black eyes behind the golden mask. They turned toward him, but only for a moment, then returned to Mrs. Raymond.

  “Rise, my queen. How often I have told you to be like this boy, and to bow to no one, not even to me.” His voice was powerful, almost hypnotic.

  She stood to her feet. “Husband. How I have longed to see your face.” She smiled. “And still I am unsatisfied.”

  “How I have longed for you to ascend the stairs of my throne and take your rightful place by my side. And yet you linger in the lands of the Elenil and play matron to human children.”

  “I am no queen,” she said. “I cannot pay the proper price.”

  “In time,” the necromancer said. “In time.” To those assembled he said, “You may rise.” He turned to study Darius. He did not speak, only held his eyes for a long minute. Mrs. Raymond watched him but did not say anything.

  “He is all you have described,” the man said. “Should I do him the favor of a quick death or let him suffer in this world?”

  Darius held his tongue, but his grip on the sword tightened. He would not die here. Not when there was so much still to be done.

  Mrs. Raymond clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “You know my answer to this.”

  “Indeed, my love, I do. Very well. Let him suffer.” He looked at those assembled behind her. “I dismiss all but the Scim, the Elenil, and this one here, this Darius. All others may go about their business, but know that the eyes of the king are upon you, and do no injustice upon my people lest you pay the price.”

  It was as if every person in the place had been holding their breath. They exhaled and moved quickly to whatever their next task was. Darius didn’t know what each of them would do but imagined some would be needed to unload, some to bear messages to the city below, some to make the ship ready for its next journey. “Come with me to my chambers,” the king said, and led them along the windows to a cleverly disguised door, which led to another room much like this one, also windowed, but facing the world beyond the city. There were plush red chairs there and a high-backed chair like a throne. “Close the door,” the king said to Darius. When it was closed a series of locks spun into place, and Darius could not see the way to open them. “Sit.”

  They each sat, Hanali by himself because no one could get near him with his voluminous outfit, Mrs. Raymond beside the necromancer, and Break Bones and Darius across from them. “I must ask you each one question,” the necromancer said. “I will know if you lie, and you will not enter my city. I cannot abide a liar. I will kill you with my own two hands. Will you agree to answer my question honestly?”

  “Of course,” Hanali said, as if he had never told a lie in his entire life. Break Bones only nodded.

  “Yes,” Darius said.

  “Very well,” the necromancer said. “The question is a simple one. Who is the last person you killed? And what is their name, if you know it? You first, Elenil.”

  Hanali nodded, his lips pursed. “I believe, if you must know, that it was a human child, about a year ago. Her name was, I think, Saanvi. I had brought her from a horrific situation into the Sunlit Lands. She had learned some things about me she found distasteful and threatened to take them to the archon. I told her that if she insisted, I would need to send her back to the human world, and she attacked me with a knife. So I killed her.”

  “You were in danger from the knife,” the necromancer said, clearly not believing that to be the case.

  “No particular danger,” Hanali said. “But there are certain standards which must be upheld.”

  “You are aware of the great grief you have caused in the taking of a life?”

  “At the time I did not think much of it, Majesty. But in the recent past I have lost my own father, whose name was Vivi, son of Gelintel. In my mourning I have become more aware of what this great loss must feel like to others. I have always been a sensitive soul.”

  The necromancer king did not respond to this but turned his attention to Break Bones. “And you, brave warrior? Was it upon the battlefield?”

  “It was, and I do not know his name. He fought with resolve, and there was a strong spirit to him. He was a good adversary. I crushed his skull. It was no great honor for him or for me, as it was a regular skirmish between the Scim and the Elenil. No great victory was won nor any great loss dealt to either side. I do not know but he may have been healed by Elenil magics. But I think not.”

  “Have you grieved him?”

  “No more than is seemly. A moment’s remembrance in a time such as this.”

  “I see.” He turned his attention to Darius. “And you, child, have you killed?”

  Darius clenched his teeth. He was more man than many others he had met in the Sunlit Lands, and he knew that he looked it today in his uniform. It rankled to be called a child. He had not killed before coming to the Sunlit Lands. But in his fight against the Elenil he had killed more than once. Often it was in battle, and the humans he had wounded were likely healed by the Elenil. There may have been one here or there who succumbed to their wounds, but if so he did not know of it. He knew that many of the soldiers he fought were as much victims as the Scim themselves, but on the other hand, they had stood on the battlefield with swords in their hands. There were days when he felt guilt over their deaths, but again, he wasn’t sure they had died. He didn’t hold himself responsible. And, he reminded himself, this was war. There would be casualties.

  But one death he couldn’t get out of his mind had happened on a night only a couple months ago, during the Festival of the Turning, when he had taken on the mantle of the Black Skull and led the Scim into the midst of the Elenil. Their magics were silent for a night, no healing available, and he had killed one of the long-lived Elenil. He’d run him through with his sword, and the Elenil’s allies had swept him away into the castle, a castle called Westwind. Darius knew that this particular Elenil had not survived. He had been one of the few casualties, and the Elenil had mourned him and shouted his name as a rallying cry in their fight against the Scim.

  “I have killed,” Darius said. “I am not haunted by guilt for it either.” Not much, he told himself. “The one I killed deserved his death, for he stood in the path of justice.”

  “Know you his name?”

  “I do.”

  “Then say it, and let us remember this villain whom you dispatched with such stoicism.”

  Darius hesitated, glancing at Hanali and Break Bones. The Scim nodded. “His name was Vivi, son of Gelintel.”

  Mrs. Raymond’s face fell, and Hanali leapt to his feet. Hanali was shouting something, enraged, trying to make his way to Darius, calling for blood. Break Bones jumped between them and held the Elenil back easily enough. Darius did not move but looked straight ahead, in
to the eyes of the necromancer. Hanali fell to the floor, and Break Bones stood over him, making sure he did not make a move for Darius. The Elenil was weeping. Darius had never seen an Elenil do such a thing, and it chilled him to the bone. He felt bad for Hanali, but there was nothing to be done. Vivi had stood between Darius and Madeline. It had been war.

  The necromancer reached out, losing interest in Hanali’s emotional outburst almost immediately, and took Mrs. Raymond’s gloved hands in his own. “And you, my queen?”

  “You know the answer to this question,” she said. “Will you make me say it again?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I must ask, and you must answer.”

  She took a deep breath, her face turning toward the window and the wide world beyond. “It was many years ago. Her name was Rebecca Raymond. She was our daughter.”

  22

  PATRA KOJA

  The Good Gardener said, “I shall call you Patra Koja.” (Patra Koja means, in the language of that day, “Bringer of Peace.”)

  FROM “THE GOOD GARDENER,” AN ALUVOREAN STORY

  They had fallen into an easy rhythm. The yak-like urudap pulled Gilenyia, who remained alive but unconscious. They had bound her wound as best they could and laid her on a litter that Lin had made of branches and vines. The Aluvorean woman stayed ahead of them, guiding the urudap gently through the trees, for the creatures required a great deal of direction.

  Madeline rode on the third urudap, and Shula noticed how ragged her breathing had become. No doubt she would need to use another leaf of Queen’s Breath soon, but Madeline wanted to spread them out as far as possible so she wouldn’t be caught without any in a moment of crisis. Shula walked alongside her, giving her encouragement and pushing her back up when necessary. David trailed somewhere behind, keeping an eye out for any who followed them.

  “Patra Koja,” Lin had said, “lives in the swamp in the eastern part of Aluvorea. Few of us go there. The Elenil do not like us to wander too far from the safest parts of the forest.”

  Shula wondered about this. It sounded suspiciously like the words of the occupiers in her own home city. “Who are the Elenil to decide where you can and cannot go?” she asked.

  “It is for our protection,” Lin said. “Their people patrol these woods often enough. Too often, I think. But these woods are the source of magic, and the Elenil fear their destruction. So they send their people to protect us.”

  Shula was not so certain, but she was new here as well. They had been walking for about an hour. She called to David, asking if there was any sign of pursuit. “Not yet,” he called back.

  Madeline needed to rest. There was a small clearing ahead, with a sheltering tree and some fresh water running alongside. Shula suggested a break.

  “Gilenyia . . . needs help . . . soon,” Madeline said.

  “If you faint, we’ll only go slower,” Shula said. “I could run ahead to this Patra Koja if Lin can give clear enough instruction. Or you could wait here so we can move faster. Or you could use another leaf of Queen’s Breath.”

  “Fine,” Madeline said. “Fine, we’ll . . . rest.”

  Shula, satisfied, helped get Madeline settled against the trunk of a large tree. David said he would keep watch. He didn’t need a break, not yet. Lin climbed a tree with easy grace, disappearing into the leaves. She returned with a large, orange-yellow fruit, which she broke in half and offered to Shula. It was creamy and tart. Madeline ate a few bites but then refused to take more.

  “Tell us . . . about the Heartwood . . . Crown,” Madeline said.

  Lin took a leaf of the Queen’s Breath from Shula and wet it, then pressed it against Madeline’s neck. She resisted putting it on, but such relief came onto her face when she took it. She relaxed, and Lin said, “I cannot bear to speak to you when you are in such pain. Use the leaves. I will find more if we need them.”

  “Thank you,” Madeline said. “Now will you tell us about the crown?”

  Lin crossed her legs and sat across from them. “Do you know what heartwood is?”

  “No,” Shula said.

  Lin thought about this, then walked around the meadow, carefully examining each tree. She found two close together and beckoned Shula over. “Do you see this tree? Feel its trunk.”

  It was a sapling with silver bark. Shula put her hand on it. It was smooth and felt strong. Lin motioned to another tree, a larger one, which had a gaping cavity in the trunk. There was a space that Shula could probably crawl into. She touched the outer trunk. It still felt strong to her, but she could see it was thin, maybe only fifteen centimeters thick.

  “Heartwood is the center of the tree. The strength of the tree.”

  “The core of the trunk,” Shula said.

  “Yes. It is the dead part of the tree.”

  “The dead part?”

  “Yes. It does not grow anymore—it is dead. It is the hardest part of the tree. If the heartwood is damaged or eaten away, the tree can still grow for a time, but it is weakened. It is vulnerable.” She grabbed the lip of the hollow tree and yanked on it, and a large chunk of the outer bark came away in her hand.

  “The dead parts of the tree make it strong,” Shula said, sitting next to Madeline and studying the other trees around them.

  “Yes,” Lin said. “Now, there is a crown called the Heartwood Crown. It is the heart of these woods. Of Aluvorea.”

  “It’s the dead part of the woods? I don’t understand.”

  Lin knocked on the hollow tree. “No, no, it is the heart of the woods. It is the strength of the woods—it creates the woods, makes them what they are. In centuries past, every hundred years a new forest person would take the crown and remake the woods. New trees, new plants, new magic.”

  Madeline sat up, listening closely. “So all the plants in Aluvorea are from different eras of the forest?”

  “Yes, yes. There are addleberries—those are very old magic, from nearly the beginning of the Sunlit Lands. Firethorns—those are from the last crowning. The stone flowers are newer too. Of course, there are also plants from your world. Ash and spruce, maples and roses and bluebells and such. They are the oldest of all, from before the welling up of magic in these woods. I suppose only Patra Koja lived here in those days.”

  Madeline looked at the Aluvorean with careful attention. “New crownings. Does that mean . . . new magic?”

  Shula noticed how much better Madeline spoke while using the Queen’s Breath. She felt thankful to see her friend have a moment of relief.

  “Yes! New magic for all of the Sunlit Lands! Until the Elenil made their pact and took control of the woods.”

  There was a crash from the woods behind them. Shula stood partway, looking that direction. They waited for more than a minute, but no other sounds came. Shula called out to David, and he called back the all clear. Shula sat down slowly, still listening.

  “So the Elenil . . . control the forest now?”

  Lin nodded, her face sad. “This is why my sister and I agreed to turn your friend Jason over to them. We had no choice. We had hoped to bring you without their knowledge, but we failed. They threatened to take you all if we refused to give them Jason, and you alone have the Queen’s Seed. We could not risk losing you. We did not know the Elenil would betray us and take you anyway.” Lin shivered. “We cannot lose you, not when you have the only Queen’s Seed planted in you.”

  Madeline held up her forearm, looking at the black speck there. Shula noted that it had moved farther up her arm, toward her shoulder. “Which means . . . what?”

  Lin’s eyes lightened. “You can grow new heartwood! You can wear the crown. You have but to cross the river—or what was once the river—and go to the island where the throne sits—Inyulap Anyar—and take the crown upon your brow, and then you will choose how magic will work in these woods for the next hundred years. The magic that flows from here goes to all the Sunlit Lands. You will be the one we grow alongside.”

  A butterfly, orange and bright yellow, moved through the meadow.
A rabbit dashed past them and into the undergrowth, followed by three faeries riding on hummingbirds. Shula said, “So who was the last one to wear the crown?”

  “Another human,” Lin said. “Many, many years ago. But the Elenil manage the forest now, and they keep it from taking on a new form. They have made . . . they have made a sort of dam for magic, and they keep reusing it over and over. It has grown stagnant.”

  “What do you mean?” Shula asked. “You mean how if Madeline needs to breathe, someone else would have to give their breath for it?”

  Lin nodded, then climbed another tree, a smile on her face. “A corrupt view of magic, thinking it is limited. If you eat an apple, must a tree die? That is what Patra Koja says. If you drink from a stream, must it dry up? Does a tree die for every tree planted, or do more and more trees grow and the forest spread?” She threw down a heavy pod, and it landed with a thud. The Aluvorean slid down the tree and landed beside it. “The Elenil have crippled the woods. They have kept it from being reborn so that they can control the magic. They are the people who put a fence around an apple tree and say, ‘There are not enough’ instead of counting the apples and the people and sharing alike. In time such people find the fruit they hoarded has gone rotten. They cannot consume it fast enough.”

  “I want to make sure I’m understanding,” Shula said. “You’re suggesting that if the Elenil didn’t babysit this forest, there would be a sort of reset of magic?”

  “Yes, it would flow and be easily accessed by all.” Lin held up the pod and smashed it against a rock, but it didn’t seem to even leave a scratch on the pod. “If there is water in a lake, the sun evaporates it. The water is in the clouds. It goes away, far from the lake. Oh no, we have lost the water! But then it snows in the mountains, and in the summer the water returns through the river, having traveled many places. The Elenil say, no, we will keep the water in tanks of our own devising. We will not let it go to the people of the mountains, nor to the people beside the river. And so they create a new system, a closed system, where they are the givers of water, where only they control it or access it.”