The Heartwood Crown

by Matt Mikalatos

  The Zhanin, however, was not loving the trees. As he pressed closer to Remi, the not-quite-a-cat beat her wings harder. Branches snapped from the trees, whipping the Zhanin in the face. He still stepped forward. A harsh meowing sound (probably not actually a meow, though, Jason knew, because Remi was not a cat) ripped through the wind, and a branch as big around as Jason’s thigh broke off a tree and whirled away. The Zhanin took another step, lifting his scimitar to strike, and Remi jumped into the whirlwind, zipped around the warrior, grabbed him by the hair, and yowling, sent him spinning off into the maelstrom. He flew up over the trees and disappeared into the distance.

  Remi spun around in the savage wind for a moment, then lighted gently on the ground. The wind had caused her hair to puff out into a gigantic fur ball. She casually licked her paws, putting her fur down bit by bit.

  “You are not a cat,” Jason said, shakily releasing the tree that had saved his life.

  “Clearly,” Remi said, without looking up from her licking. “I am a Guardian of the Wind.”

  “I have never heard of those,” Jason said.

  The cat paused her bath to glare at him. “Offensive.”

  “But I like them. I like them a lot.”

  “Naturally.”

  Jason stumbled over to the Aluvorean woman. Her green color was returning, and she had somehow remained on the ground during the windstorm. “Did you make the wind go around her?” Jason asked.

  “Did you want me to make her fly away?” Remi seemed genuinely interested in this question.

  “No, of course not.”

  Looking disappointed, Remi returned to licking her fur down, focusing on a stubborn bit on her shoulder. Jason felt a sting from his tattoo. The magic of his pudding cups must have been restored.

  “Stop looking at me,” Remi said, “until my fur is back in place.”

  Jason tried not to snicker. It was funny seeing a “cat” who was so powerful but who also looked like she had licked an electrical outlet. Remi huffed. “I’ll be back after I’ve cleaned up.” She glided away into the forest, like a cotton ball with wings.

  Once Remi had left, Jason worked on getting Lamisap back on her feet. The forest had been radically altered by the windstorm: pinecones and seedpods were everywhere, and leaves had been stripped from many of the trees. There was a mess of broken branches all around them. When Lamisap was able to stand again, Jason helped her move around a bit.

  “When the magic leaves,” she said, “I am all but helpless. This is what will happen when the queen comes again.”

  “What do you mean?” Jason asked. He decided they should get going, so he broke the smaller twigs off a fallen branch and gave it to Lamisap as a staff. Together they moved in the direction she told him—toward the carnivorous forest.

  “When the new queen comes, she will reset the magic of the world. We Aluvoreans have been living in the presence of magic so long, it has become a part of us. Some of us are more forest than people. The magic lives in us in a different way than others in the Sunlit Lands . . . except maybe the Southern Court. When our magic is gone, we will hibernate for a time. When we wake, we will be new beings, having grown alongside the new queen.”

  Grown alongside? He had heard them say this about Madeline. “Are you saying that Madeline is going to be the new queen?”

  “If she so chooses. I hope she will. Lin and I . . . we did not ask permission to take the Queen’s Seed to her. The Eldest among us was angry, even though we thought we did a good thing.”

  Jason wondered about that. There had been strange prophecies that Hanali said were about Madeline, but they had discovered that he said that about everyone—it was a way for him to get power in Elenil culture. So far as they knew, those supposed prophecies had been completely invented. But it was weird to him that Hanali had chosen Madeline to come to the Sunlit Lands, and then the Aluvoreans had chosen her to get this Queen’s Seed. “Why Madeline?” Jason asked. “Why her?” It wasn’t fair, really. She should have been allowed to go home, to live the rest of her life, but they had drawn her back.

  Lamisap leaned on the staff Jason had made for her. Her eyes were a deep green with black in the center, like stones in a pond. The green skin was unsettling if you looked at it too long. He was sure he would get used to it. She looked up at him when she spoke. “In your friend Madeline we see hope to move beyond what we have become. We are all grown into ourselves—old ways of thought, and old hurts, and old revenges—and we have lived too long with these things. We have not let the next thing come but have created a cycle of life that does not cycle. It continues ever thinner, ever more encrusted with age, and it has become too heavy, like a tree branch coated in layer after layer of ice in the winter. The branch can only break. Soon the tree is in danger. Soon many trees are in danger. The forest suffers. We need a new queen.”

  “But why Madeline? Why her specifically?”

  Lamisap looked away into the trees. “You will think us foolish.”

  “Yeah, well, if so, I will definitely tell you.”

  “My sister and I watched her when she came here, you know. To the Sunlit Lands. We saw that she was—” Lamisap paused, a look of something like shame on her green face. Or maybe embarrassment.

  “Go on. Say it.”

  “We saw that she was kind. Troubled, but kind.”

  Hmm. Jason thought on that for a moment. “You knew that you would be growing alongside her, so you wanted someone kind.”

  “Yes.”

  Okay. That made sense. It wasn’t some earth-shattering prophecy of the future or anything like that, but Jason could understand it, at least. “I don’t think that’s foolish.”

  “Once the idea took root, Lin and I could not put it out of our heads.”

  He helped her over a fallen tree. “You really like plant metaphors.”

  “Yes,” she said. “They are the simplest. A seed must die and be buried to grow. A tree must, in time, give itself back to the forest. An eternal forest becomes a forest of ghosts and shades. There is life in it, but not healthy life. Aluvorea has become such a place. The Elenil have become such a people.”

  “You mean because they live so long?”

  “Do you not know the story of the Elenil and how they became so long-lived?”

  Jason grabbed a stick from alongside their path and whipped it at the top of some grass. “Nope.”

  “Long ago, an archon of the Elenil decided he would make his people live forever. He studied the magic necessary. He found that if they were willing to take a life for a life, they could live long indeed. Every time they grew old, they could use their magic to steal the life of another person in the Sunlit Lands. He began to enact this plan.”

  “Sounds like a terrible guy.”

  “Indeed. We do not speak his name in Aluvorea. But there was a Zhanin prince who learned of the archon’s evil, for the Elenil had taken the life of one of his servants. Being people of the sea, the Zhanin have always been sensitive to the changes and currents of magic. This prince, who we now call the Prince of the Open Sea, brought the Zhanin together and told them that this practice of the Elenil could not be allowed. He dived down to the bottom of the world and seized control of the world’s magic. He altered it so the Elenil could no longer steal the years of another. Instead he presented them with a choice—they could choose to live longer than others in the Sunlit Lands, but they must pay a terrible price. A price which they agreed to pay.”

  Jason didn’t always love stories, but Baileya did. He wondered if she knew this one. He figured she would be along soon, because she always did manage to show up, but on the other hand, it had been a while. He was starting to get nervous. But he could at least get this story and tell it to Baileya if she didn’t already know it. “What was the price?”

  “If they chose to live for centuries, then they could no longer have children.”

  Jason almost missed a step, he was so startled by this revelation. That made sense. The Elenil didn’t have a
ny kids running around in Far Seeing. “What about Hanali, though? He’s younger than the other Elenil. Gilenyia, too, I think.”

  Lamisap did not answer. She held up a finger for quiet. “No,” she said, and the color began to drain from her. She fell to the ground. Which could only mean that there was a Zhanin near them again. Jason wanted to drag her to safety, but he knew he might only have seconds before the warrior came upon them. He jumped and grabbed a sturdy branch in the tree above him and clambered up several more branches. He could still see Lamisap, but he thought if he held still he might be hard to notice.

  It took less than a minute for the Zhanin to arrive. It wasn’t the same one that Remi had taken care of, which could only mean he had beaten either Baileya or Delightful Glitter Lady in battle. Jason clenched his fists, filled with a sudden rage. He knew it had been taking too long.

  The Zhanin knelt down, studying the Aluvorean woman on the forest floor.

  If Jason did this just right, it might work. He angled himself off to the side. He didn’t want to hit any branches on the way down. He edged out onto the branch. He held a branch above him for balance. On the count of three. One. Two. THREE!

  Jason cannonballed from the tree, landing directly on the Zhanin’s shoulders, knocking his neck forward and slamming him to the ground. Jason sprawled on top of him, the Zhanin face down, Jason lying face up. They both groaned. Jason felt certain he had broken something. He hoped that something was the Zhanin.

  The warrior rolled to the side, spilling Jason onto the ground. Jason got to his feet quickly enough, but the Zhanin was faster. He gripped Jason by the throat. He didn’t have a sword, which Jason was glad for—he would already be dead if he had. Baileya must have disarmed him, but if so, where was she?

  Jason choked. His vision blurred. He didn’t want to go out like this. Didn’t want his final sight to be the sun-damaged face of an ocean-going assassin. He didn’t want his last words to be . . . wait, what had his last words been? Something in his conversation with Lamisap, probably. No! He wouldn’t allow that. He managed to get his fingers wedged in beneath the Zhanin’s fingers and snatch a gasp of air. “Sorry,” he croaked. “Sorry to drop in on you unannounced.”

  There. That was better. Those were respectable last words. His vision was definitely going now.

  The Zhanin stumbled, losing his grip. A blur of motion hit the man in the head, punched him in the chest, kicked his knee backward, and sent the warrior tumbling to the ground.

  “This man is my brother, and mine to kill.” The Kakri warrior stood over the Zhanin, panting, a small, curved knife in his hand. It was Baileya’s brother.

  “Bezaed,” Jason said, his throat still raw, his back aching from the fall, his elbows probably bruised. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

  Bezaed turned toward him, the knife catching a glint of sunlight. “And I you, Wu Song. I have been tracking you for some time.”

  “You didn’t happen to see Baileya back there, did you?”

  Bezaed hesitated, then looked swiftly over his shoulder. “No.”

  “Would you mind terribly if, before you kill me, we went to check on her? Just to make sure she’s okay?”

  “She can take care of herself,” Bezaed said. He was moving toward Jason now, with careful steps. “Besides, I don’t want to kill you until I have taken you home to the Kakri territories.”

  Jason scrambled backward. “Any chance I could introduce you to my cat before we go?” He got to his feet and took a step backward, and then another. “Is that a no? Bezaed?”

  24

  THE PLACE OF

  KNOWLEDGE

  Know who I am.

  FROM “JELDA’S REVENGE,” A SCIM LEGEND

  Darius paced the long room he had been placed in. They had been brought to the base of the tower one by one—Hanali first, then Break Bones, then him. They let him keep the sword. “The Pastisians have nothing to fear from a sword such as that one,” King Ian said.

  King Ian. The necromancer and lord of the Pastisians. Ian Raymond. Such an ordinary name. And his wife was Mary Patricia Wall, the author of the Meselia books, which included a Prince Ian who fell in love with Lily. No doubt in reality Lily had been Mary Patricia, now Mary Raymond. The dorm hostess for new arrivals to the Sunlit Lands was also the queen of the necromancers and a well-regarded novelist from Earth.

  A door opened, and the necromancer king strode in. “Walk with me,” he said, his voice amplified by the golden mask. Time alone with the necromancer made Darius wary. The man had a presence that left little room for noticing anything else around you. He filled a room. Darius couldn’t help but feel like it was an honor to get some of his time, but then he remembered that one of the first things King Ian had done when he met Darius was to ask Mrs. Raymond whether Darius should be killed. That seemed like something important to remember.

  The king led Darius out of the tower and into the bustling city street. Unlike Far Seeing, which had people of many different descriptions, Pastisia seemed to have only humans. Most of them, like Darius, were Black. As if sensing Darius’s observation, King Ian said, “All people are welcome in Pastisia, so long as they abide by my rules.”

  They walked among the people. The crowd was no problem—the people of Pastisia made way for their king. No one came up to speak to him or interrupt them. There were no guards so far as Darius could see. It was strange to see signs again, with words on them. The Scim and the Elenil used magic to communicate—there was no need for writing or reading when one could speak to a bird and have it fly your message to the recipient. Birds could keep track of your schedule, or tell you a recipe, or even tell a story—almost anything books could do, without the inconvenience of learning to read.

  People made their way through the streets of Pastisia on bicycles and cars with great coal ovens on the front, belching out black smoke. Above them there were dirigibles and gliders, and people moving between high towers on hanging bridges. It was different from anything Darius had seen in the Sunlit Lands. More wealthy by far than the broken-down wastes of the Scim, and more scientifically advanced than the Elenil. The Elenil had an almost medieval culture. Here Darius didn’t see a single horse or beast of burden—the industrial revolution was in full swing, though along different lines than back home on Earth.

  A clockwork bird buzzed past their heads. King Ian must have seen the look of wonder on Darius’s face, because he said, “The Elenil live in a world frozen in time. A magical mirror of Earth’s medieval culture, preserved by necessity and by magic. They cannot read and thus cannot achieve a highly technological society, which requires a transference of knowledge they cannot sustain with their messenger birds. Technological advancement requires writing. It is the first technology of a scientific society.”

  “You think of writing as a technology?”

  “Of course. Invented by humanity, it allows us to preserve knowledge beyond a human life span . . . to hear the insights and musings of the dead. It lets us hear from those who are far beyond our senses in the shape of letters and notes and books. And while it does present certain challenges—the difficulty of true interaction, the shortening of human memory, the educational burden to achieve proficiency—the benefits are vast, and they change the shape of human societies.”

  “Can we talk about the whole necromancy thing?”

  King Ian turned his golden mask toward Darius. “Of course. Let us go to the Place of Knowledge, where we commune with the dead.” He turned down a wide avenue. Darius noticed that some of the vehicles driving along it appeared to be electric rather than steam powered. “As we walk, Darius, tell me of your friend Hanali. Do you trust him?”

  “No,” Darius said plainly. “I think my girlfriend, Madeline, does, and I trust her. But Hanali? Not at all. He gave me drugged tea the last time I drank with him.”

  “He is sly and manipulative and a maker of intricate plans. I am examining his offer to me, looking for the trap, but it is too cunningly devised. I cannot see how he w
ill take advantage of my people if I agree to it, and yet I feel certain that he would.”

  It was true. Darius thought back to the Elenil’s response to the news that Darius had killed his father. Hanali almost certainly had suspected it had been Darius. There were only three Black Skulls, and it was well known that one of them had killed Vivi, and Hanali had known since practically that same day that Darius was the leader of the Skulls. The raging, tear-filled weeping had the feeling of a performance, an act for a reason Darius did not understand. Hanali was unpredictable. “He’s complicated,” Darius admitted.

  The king did not pause, but Darius could feel the king’s attention center more closely on him, even though he didn’t turn toward him. “So are all people, it seems to me. Like you, Darius Walker. A man caught between many worlds yet truly belonging to none of them.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You have no one culture. You are Black at home and blend in as something else at your school. Here you are Scim but still human. You are angry and seeking justice, and struggle to keep your more merciful instincts in check. You have not decided who you are, that is all.”

  Darius’s face burned. “I know who I am,” he said, but the king’s words cut. He strengthened his resolve to follow through on his plan. “Where is Hanali now?”

  He felt the king’s interest in the conversation lessen. How could this man so intensely communicate such things without even looking at you? The king said, “I have sent him to meet with my generals to discuss his plan for war.”

  “Shouldn’t you be there?”

  “I trust my generals,” the king said simply. “They will advise me on this matter, and it is important that Hanali know his presence here is not the most significant event in my kingdom at this time.”

  “Meaning you think my presence is?” He had been flattered just a few minutes ago to think that the king would make so much time to spend with him, but now he felt unsettled. What was the king’s plan for him, that he would skip a meeting between his generals and the potential future archon?