The Omen of Stones

by Casey L. Bond

  I sought Dad out instead, finding him in his office. He wasn’t being debriefed or signing documents, as he often was. With his arms crossed over his chest and legs crossed at the ankles, he perched on the edge of his desk, watching a broadcast of Purist protesters in the core four sectors of Nautilus. The palace lay at the heart of the Kingdom, with the sectors spiraling out from it like the segments of a nautilus’s shell. The Core was where the bulk of the population lived, and the Purists targeted everyone they could by spewing hatred of witches.

  Before Mom, no witch would ever have been considered a match for a royal. But when Dad met Mom, the old way evaporated as quickly as a breath in winter.

  Lately, the Purist movement had been drawing more and more crowds, and activists were becoming louder and more belligerent about their disdain of the witch queen and her son. They hated Mom, but they hated me even more because I was the only living heir.

  My uncle Knox’s wife Leah was pregnant. In her youth, she’d had two miscarriages, but now that she was older, had carried this child almost to term. Knox swore that his son or daughter, whichever they were blessed with, would never wear the crown. He insisted the crown stay with Dad and be passed down to me. His entire life, he’d been grateful to be the second born. I think it was why he volunteered to guard Dad. If something happened to him, the crown would pass to Knox – at least until I was of age. Knox was a ferociously protective guard because he guarded not only his brother, but himself from the crown.

  I understood why he didn’t want his child to shoulder the duties demanded of the crown, but wondered if it might be best if I abdicated publicly and left everyone to figure out what came next. No one had bothered to ask if I wanted the responsibility and the life that came with ruling a kingdom – especially if so many of its citizens opposed me.

  When I knocked at the door, Dad quickly turned off the broadcaster and offered a wan smile. I looked just like him now, only younger. We had the same dark hair, though Mom had dark hair, too. Same golden eyes. Same jawline. Same build. We could share suits if we had to. Shoes, too. But our similarities ended where my magic began.

  Fate determined my destiny before I was born, and he’d granted me powers that no other witch alive had. My powers worried even my mother, and she was the most feared witch in and out of The Gallows at one time. No one in Thirteen knew anything about a spirit tongue. There was the briefest of mentions in ancient books of shadow, but none of the tomes went into detail about what their purpose was, the extent of their power, or where their limitations lay. The fact they existed and were feared was all we knew.

  I knew of a few things I could do. I could bind a spirit to me or to the earth and hold them until I released them. The first time I realized I could do that was when my grandfather wanted to fade away and I wanted him to stay and play with me. He scolded me for half an hour for binding him to me. I was just a boy. A boy who hated feeling alone.

  And if being a spirit tongue wasn’t strange enough…there were the bones.

  Mom did her best to shelter me from them. She told servants to destroy any left over from meals and burn any found on the palace grounds, but some spirits still managed to point me in the direction of their remains. It was like they wanted me to know how they felt when they died. Maybe it was because I was the only one with whom they could communicate. As if they thought I could somehow relate.

  When I touched bone, I experienced the last moments of death for the person or animal of the bone I held. No matter how many times it occurred, I couldn’t relate. I was alive, and no matter how many deaths I saw or felt, they weren’t mine. Though some of the souls pined for my world, I couldn’t fully appreciate theirs. The spirits were in a realm I could barely skim, like fingers trailing over the water’s surface.

  I wondered if they could feel me the same way I felt them. In truth, it was a sad and exhausting power to have. To feel someone’s last breath, along with the dread that came with it. No matter how often people said they were ready for death, they never were. In the end, they fought and struggled, clinging to life, because it truly was precious.

  Some didn’t realize that until it was too late. They were the ones who lingered. They were the spirits who sought me out.

  Then there were the spirits like Grandfather, who watched over their loved ones from the other side, who waited for the ones they loved to eventually join them in death.

  Dad clapped me on the shoulder as we walked together toward the ballroom where Mom had been busy decorating all day. At least it made her happy. She was smiling and laughing. I heard her giggles through the door before we even opened it. Dad’s lips lifted at the sweet sound.

  He paused outside the door. “Your mother and I want to talk to you sometime later today.”

  That sounded ominous.

  “About what?”

  “It’s best we wait and let your mother—”

  “Dad, just tell me what it’s about, at least.”

  “You’re seventeen tomorrow, which means you’ll be able to hand-fast if you’re at all interested. Beyond that, I’d like to involve you in more of the Kingdom’s affairs. If you’re to be king, you need to know the ins and outs of Nautilus.”

  My mouth gaped a little. I hadn’t expected him to bring up either of those things. I knew he met Mom when he was around my age, but never really thought about how young he was when he became King. He did so out of necessity, of course, when Grandfather Lucius became sick and passed away. But Dad was healthy and still young, and there was no rush for me to become King.

  That didn’t mean I couldn’t see how he might feel the need to press matters. The loss of his father still weighed on him at times, and the fact that he was aging while Mom seemed not to be afflicted bothered him. His mortality became yet another worry on his shoulders. Not that witches were immortal, but still. Mom and I would outlive him by many years if we died naturally. Of course, Fate may have other plans.

  “Don’t worry about it, River. We’ll figure it all out together.”

  We walked into the ballroom to find Mom and her friends having some sort of battle involving ribbons and balloons.

  “Happy birthday!” Brecan called out, sending a burst of confetti fluttering in my direction. A flurry of shredded paper rained down, piling around me and covering me to mid-thigh. I laughed, stepping out of the pile and shaking off like a wet mutt.

  Just as I was free of most of the debris, Mira, not to be outdone, glitter-bombed me.

  It got in my eyes. In my mouth. I scraped specks from my tongue against my teeth and spit them into a napkin Dad offered, trying but failing to stifle his laugh. Pieces fluttered down from my lashes. I closed my eyes and shook off again. “At least it’s blue.”

  “Your favorite,” Mira sweetly reminded. I made sure to rub plenty of the leftover glitter on her as I hugged her. She squealed but looked absolutely delighted to have shimmery skin. She held her arms out and gave an approving nod.

  Brecan, whose affinity was air, blew it all away as though none of it ever happened, placing two separate piles – confetti and glitter – on opposite tables. There wasn’t a speck left on Mira’s mocha skin, much to her chagrin.

  Mom smiled at me. “Happy birthday, River.”

  “It’s not until tomorrow,” I protested, just as a branch clawed at the nearest window, raking down the glass pane.

  “A storm is coming,” Brecan noted. “As strong as the one that blew across the kingdom the night River was born. It should arrive tomorrow evening.”

  “Then we should prepare guest rooms. No one will want to travel home in bad weather,” Dad noted, striding across the floor.

  When he was out of earshot, Mom approached with her friends so that we formed a small huddle.

  “Have you heard him?” Mom asked. Brecan and Mira’s attention sharply slid to me.

  I shook my head. “It’s not like that. I don�
��t feel him as you did. I do get these…gut feelings, but I don’t see or hear Fate within me.” I never had.

  Mom look relieved and truthfully, I was, too. I knew what she’d done for Fate. At one time she was his hands, his living helper, and occasionally, his noose.

  Mom had always been strong, but Dad’s love softened her edges. She was fierce, but smart. I admired her restraint. She once was almost as powerful as Fate himself, but didn’t abuse the privileges he afforded her.

  I wasn’t sure I could be as strong or as sound as Mom was. Power tempted even the greatest of men, or so Dad always warned. He reminded himself often, because he didn’t want to be like that. He might be King, but he wanted to serve his people, not be so caught up in himself that they all loathed him. Dad was a good man, which made him an exceptional king.

  “Do you like the decorations?” Mom asked.

  I turned in a slow circle, surveying their handiwork. Ribbons of sapphire and silver streamers spanned the ceiling. A few ends had come loose from Brecan and Mira’s assaults, but Mom would make sure they were tacked firmly back in place before she left. She was more excited than anyone about the big day.

  Bouquets of silver balloons were tied in each of the room’s corners, while matching candelabras took center stage in the middle of each table draped with midnight blue linen. Empty tables were positioned along the walls. Tomorrow, there would be fountains of punch and more varieties of cakes than I could conjure or count. There would be fruit and fresh cheese and roasted hog.

  I didn’t need or want a party. I was seventeen, not seven. But I couldn’t hurt Mom’s feelings. So instead I replied, “It looks amazing. Thank you.”

  Brecan told me how excited the witches of Thirteen were to welcome their prince into the fold, but I wasn’t really in the fold, was I? I was far from it. They lived in a sector protected and fueled by magic I didn’t understand, while I lived in the palace where my powers were kept secret. I’d visited Brecan and Mira a few times, but that was all I was to the witches in The Gallows. A visitor. An outsider.

  I didn’t fit in there.

  But I wasn’t sure I fit in here, either. I wasn’t convinced I should ever wear a crown or attempt to lead a people who feared me.

  Brecan, Mira, and Mom were discussing magic for the party as Dad reentered the room with Uncle Knox, who told him not to worry about the festivities. He had the Purists under control.

  Sometimes I wondered why we put up with them at all. My father valued peace, but being peaceable with the Purists hadn’t fostered any love between them and the crown. If anything, the fissure between the two factions had deepened and spread further apart.

  The Purists were liars who spread venomous gossip. Unfortunately, their poison seemed to be taking effect. Rumors swirled about how terrible Mom’s powers were and how mine were even stronger, even worse. They said I was evil and cruel. The Purists spit lies about anything they could to turn the hearts and minds of Nautilus’s people against Mom and me. Witches should never wear crowns, they would shout.

  They claimed Mom bewitched my father and now ruled Nautilus in his place.

  If they knew Mom, they would know that wasn’t true. I had a feeling most of the Purists causing problems would hang if she had her way. But Dad insisted their words couldn’t cause harm and that we shouldn’t act defensively unless they gave us cause.

  Shouting was all they usually dared. There had been a few acts of vandalism, but for the most part, Nautilus’s guard was spectacular. Well-trained, by his uncle Knox himself. The Guard was adept at quenching the fires of Purists protests, which drove them absolutely mad. Their spectacularly failed attempts to incite the watching audiences would be funny if the broadcasts didn’t highlight the fact that my mother and I were the witches they fought so ardently against.

  I wondered if the citizens would eventually turn on us just to quieten the Purists.

  If their machinations ever tore at my parents, they didn’t show it. Dad pulled Mom to his side and tenderly kissed her head, earning a groan from Uncle Arron, who had appeared in a dark, pluming cloud not a foot from the starry-eyed couple. How could they be as in love as they were after so long a time, when so much ire had been aimed their way? Maybe Mom was good at shielding them from it, or maybe that was Dad’s doing. He certainly shielded me when he could.

  “Thank you for everything. It looks great,” I said with a smile I didn’t feel, before making an excuse to leave the room. The last thing I wanted was for my power to manifest during my party, and for the dead to join the festivities. I’d thought about what tomorrow might bring ever since Mom told me it was when my power would peak. I didn’t feel any different now than I did when I was a boy, but would that all change in just a few hours?

  Only time, and Fate, would tell.

  I just hoped there weren’t cameras recording if it did. The Kingdom might side with the Purists if something insane happened and demand that me and Mom leave. They might not even let us stay in Thirteen. We might be banished to The Wilds.

  Dad would come with us, of course. Then they’d have to deal with Uncle Knox as king. That might be deterrent enough not to mess with us. Knox might be a slick talker, but he could go from smiling to striking in less than a breath. And the Purists had definitely been chaffing him lately. Now more than ever.

  I turned to leave them to their work, but Mom followed me into the hallway. “You’re sure you like everything?” she asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  “River,” she began, pausing for a beat. “Your father and I need to speak with you about a few things.”

  “If it’s about hand-fasting, I’m not interested,” I said honestly.

  “You won’t feel that way forever,” she replied dryly.

  “Mom, how can you expect me to hand-fast without meeting anyone? I visit Thirteen once or twice a year, and you and Dad always come with me.” They hovered, to be quite honest. “I know Dad was forced into the crown, but there is no reason to push it onto my brow just yet.”

  Her mouth gaped open, but she snapped it closed and gave me a nod. “I’ll talk to your father.”

  “Thanks,” I said, already walking away.

  I already knew the outcome of the conversation. They would say I was too young and vulnerable to do anything unguarded, which meant I would remain in the castle because I refused to be a burden. Life would continue unchanged…just as my magic would, despite my coming of age.

  My steps echoed down the empty hall as I made my way to my room.

  Omen

  Lindey hummed in the kitchen as she measured flour for the cake she was making. She shuffled ingredients around in the pantry until she found what she needed, plucking the small bottle from the identical ones next to it. She could read her writing on the label, but I’d wager she was the only one who could. A chicken who stepped in ink, then scratched across parchment, could write more legibly.

  The tart scent of lemon filled the air as she gently raked one across a grater, a feathery pile of yellow zest forming beneath. Lindey’s cakes were always fluffy and moist, crumbling deliciously from one’s fork. My mouth began to water just thinking about the way her cake would taste. It had been a year since I tasted Lindey’s lemon cake. Far too long, in my opinion.

  But lemons were hard to come by, and we could only buy them from the merchant this time of year. He only stocked them for a week or so.

  “Have you been to the water today?” she asked, scooping up the pile of zest and adding it to the mixture. She grabbed another lemon and looked at me expectantly.

  “Earlier, yes. Why do you ask?” Lindey knew how it calmed me, but there was something in her tone that said she wasn’t asking conversationally.

  “You dreamt of it last night. You were panicked, half-asleep and half-awake. You said the stones were screaming. It took me forever to wake you.”

  My brows kis
sed.

  I didn’t remember the dream, much less Lindey waking me.

  Her hands stilled. “You don’t remember?”

  I shook my head. “I must’ve been sound asleep.”

  “Well, I’ve never seen anything like it. You were walking. Your eyes were glazed over, yet you were determined to get out the door. If I hadn’t been here to stop you, your feet would’ve taken you straight to the river.”

  To the river.

  To the water.

  To death.

  That was my fate.

  I was abandoned by my birth mother next to the river with a note that said one thing: “She was born in the river. And in the river, will she die.”

  I wouldn’t have drowned last night, even if I hadn’t woken Lindey. If I had been alone and managed to make it to the river, the stones would’ve woken me if the frigid water didn’t. Though it was practically summer, the water was still glacial from the spring run-off. It was why I still carried buckets of water to warm for our baths. It was too cold to even wade in for long.

  Soon, though.

  Soon, no more ice would melt from the mountain, and soon the earth would warm. The sun would heat the water and I would wade and bathe and stay by the stream all day, soaking up every ounce of warmth I could. I would listen to the stones. They always spoke when I listened, just as Fate listened when I spoke.

  Lindey’s plump shoulders worked as she kneaded the lemon dough that would make the base of the cake. It was thicker than bread dough but sweet, and after it baked, would be crumbly. The top layer would be softer, more like batter. Both would taste delicious on their own, but when you put them together they were gooey and divine.

  “A storm’s coming,” Lindey warned.

  “I can already smell the rain,” I told her. The air always smelled different before a storm. I wondered if the scent came from the storm itself, or if it was its effect on the nearby earth that I sensed.

  “It’s going to be a strong one.” Lindey hated storms. They unnerved her. If the house rattled, she jumped. If lightning struck too close, it completely undid her. She waited out the thunder under the protective cover of blankets.