The Crescent Stone

by Matt Mikalatos

  “Pull,” Gilenyia said.

  The spear did not budge.

  “Harder!”

  Madeline felt the spear give. The boy arched his back and screamed.

  “No need to be gentle, girl—tear it out of him.”

  Angered by her inability to pull the spear free and the string of instructions from Gilenyia, Madeline snapped. She put one foot on the boy’s chest, leaned back, and pulled with all her might, stumbling backward with a bloody spear shaft dripping in her hands.

  The wound in the boy’s chest closed like water over a stone. The Scim’s wound simultaneously widened. The grey-skinned warrior thrashed for a moment, Gilenyia’s hand still resting on its chest, and then it fell still.

  The boy opened his eyes, which widened upon seeing the luxuriously dressed Elenil woman leaning over him. “Lady Gilenyia,” he gasped. He leapt up and knelt before her. “Thank you, lady.”

  “Your name, sir?”

  “Ricardo Sánchez, lady.”

  “You have served us well, Ricardo,” she said. “Now join my attendants and gather more wounded. Start with those with the most grievous wounds.”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said. He bounded into the junkyard of the battle.

  The Scim soldier did not move, did not breathe. “Did you—” Madeline cleared her throat. “Did you kill him?”

  Gilenyia gave her a curious look. “His people abandoned him. He would have died in a few hours. I sped his death and healed one of our soldiers. It was a mercy twice over. Does it displease you?”

  Did it displease her? What a strange question. Of course it displeased her. It seemed unjust in every possible way to heal a human warrior by killing a Scim. But Gilenyia was right—the Scim hadn’t looked like it would last long. Madeline didn’t know much about punctured chests, but the boy hadn’t looked like he would last long either. So maybe instead of letting two people die, she had helped one live?

  “I help the Scim wounded as well,” Gilenyia said. “Their people have abandoned them. We take them into the Court of Far Seeing and rehabilitate them, give them meaningful roles in the Sunlit Lands. It’s more than their foul kinfolk have ever done for them.”

  “It seems . . . something seems wrong about it.” Madeline couldn’t figure out how to say it, but a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach threatened to spread to her whole body.

  “I am a healer,” Gilenyia said. “I had hoped you might assist me during your allotted time. To find someone with healing potential is rare among the Elenil, and I see that potential in you. But perhaps you do not have the stomach for it. No matter. Today you shall at least go among the wounded and find those I may help.”

  “You want me to . . . to find the wounded for you?”

  Gilenyia nodded once, impatiently. “Even if I don’t heal them, we must take them within the city walls, agreed? Look for the most egregiously wounded first. I cannot save them once they pass death’s gate.”

  Okay. Okay, she could do this. She was only pointing people out, people Gilenyia would find eventually anyway. Or maybe she should run. Maybe she should look for a way home out of this crazy place. Her breathing went ragged just thinking about it. Somewhere there was a gate or portal or closet or painting that would open and land her back with her mom and dad, where Sofía would make her hot chocolate in the morning and pack her lunches, and where Mr. García would smile at her in the sunlit garden as he placed new plants in the black soil. Darius would pick her up and take her to school, and in the afternoon he would read to her.

  She stumbled, her chest tightening. Her breathing was coming ragged and uneven. The tattoo on her wrist stung. She whipped off her glove. Maybe it was her imagination, but the tattoo looked wider than before. Not by much, but a tiny bit, like it had swollen.

  Were these thoughts enough to invalidate her agreement? Was the magic removing her ability to breathe because she wasn’t serving the Elenil with her entire heart? She tugged her glove back on. She didn’t want to touch anything out here with her bare hands.

  She found a wounded Scim warrior. He was pinned beneath some beast she did not recognize—like an oversize ox. She couldn’t tell if the pungent stench came from the animal or the Scim’s bloodied and stained rags. The warrior’s eyes fluttered open, and when his eyes met hers, his lip curled up in disgust, revealing a scarcity of crooked yellow teeth.

  “Can you hear me?”

  The Scim licked his lips. “I . . . hear you . . . Elenil.”

  “I’m human. My name is Madeline.”

  He grunted or maybe laughed.

  “We’re going to heal you.” She stood and called for Gilenyia.

  Gilenyia arrived with five humans—her two attendants and three soldiers she had patched up. She regarded the broken Scim coolly, but she didn’t critique Madeline’s choice. Instead, she bent over the warrior and said, so quietly that only he and Madeline could hear, “What will you do, brave warrior, if I use Elenil magic to save you?”

  “A pox . . . on your magic,” he wheezed. “Darkness . . . a thousand years . . . darkness. For you and your . . .” His face contorted in pain, and his hands scratched at the hide of the ox.

  “Pull him out,” Gilenyia barked, and Ricardo immediately took hold of one arm, an attendant the other. The other two humans put their backs against the ox and pushed. It wasn’t enough to get much movement, and the Scim roared in pain.

  Madeline said, “We could dig him out,” and that’s what they did. The mud moved easily enough, and with a combination of hands and broken weapons they managed to get his legs loose enough to tear him away from the dead ox.

  “His legs and pelvis are broken,” Gilenyia said. “Some minor internal damage. Have you found someone who will balance these wounds?”

  One of her attendants brushed the hair out of his eyes with a muddied hand. “I have one.” They dragged another Scim warrior, much worse for wear, through the mud. Madeline couldn’t believe she was still alive. She had been cut neatly from the shoulder down, and the wound already stank.

  Gilenyia looked the Scim over carefully, then motioned to Madeline to join her. “This one won’t last long. It is a mercy to her and to the one with broken legs. Do you approve?”

  “Do you need me to . . . to approve?”

  “Before we leave this battlefield I hope to see you understand the work I do. You have chosen this Scim soldier to be healed. You must have some compassion for him.”

  The Scim had snarled at Madeline. But still. It was right to heal him. Wasn’t it? “Will it kill her? To fix him?”

  “She will die regardless. My magic, remember, cannot pass the gates of death. She will die in an hour if we let her or in a few minutes if she gives her legs to her countryman.”

  Madeline couldn’t decide. Gilenyia waited, then asked again, “Do you approve?”

  She couldn’t say the words. The groans and cries of the two Scim warriors were too much for her. Gilenyia grew tired of waiting and put her bare hands upon their foreheads. The male Scim arched his back and screamed, while the female exhaled once, sharply, and lay still. The black swirls of her tattoos faded then disappeared completely.

  The male Scim sat up on his knees, his legs and pelvis miraculously whole, and cradled the female’s body, weeping bitterly.

  “Ungrateful creature,” Gilenyia said, disgusted.

  “May the Peasant King welcome you into his court,” the Scim said soft and low into the dead Scim’s ear.

  “Better the Majestic One than the Peasant King,” Gilenyia said.

  The Scim scowled at her.

  “Do not run,” Gilenyia said, “unless you would have your sister’s sacrifice be in vain.”

  The Scim stayed near them after that as they combed the field for more survivors. The sun had risen in earnest, and they had wandered far from the center of the battlefield now. The Scim soldier winced in the sunshine, which seemed to be physically hurting him. After a couple hours, Gilenyia had healed perhaps twenty human soldiers and three
Scim, some with broken limbs and a few with more serious wounds. The serious wounds were the most troubling, as Madeline watched the nearly dead succumb because of Gilenyia’s magic. Once Gilenyia used a badly broken human to fix a Scim warrior, but Madeline noticed dark looks exchanged by the human soldiers when she did. Madeline wondered if this was part of a show meant for her, to try to convince her that Gilenyia gave everyone an equal chance.

  Some of the soldiers were sent back into the city with the Scim warriors, but Gilenyia kept the first one she had healed, the one Madeline had chosen, there in the crowd, finding bodies. Madeline worked her way over to him. His thick, grey muscles were covered in black tattoos that whirled in loops up both arms and over his shoulders. His hair, greasy and limp, hung past his shoulders. He had the smell of someone who hadn’t washed in weeks, maybe longer.

  “I told you my name,” Madeline said. “What’s yours?”

  He scowled at her. “Call me Night’s Breath.”

  “Is that a common name among your people?”

  He drew himself up to his full height and hit his chest with one massive fist. “It is my war-skin name, given in my first battle. For when the enemy feels my breath upon his neck, already night has come for him.”

  She helped him move a splintered battering ram off a large, hairy creature that looked almost like a goat with human arms and legs. It had wide, staring eyes. There was nothing to be done for it. “Why do you want to bring darkness to the Elenil? Why do you hate the light?”

  Night’s Breath spit. He mumbled something to himself, then said, “A thousand years of darkness is a mercy to the Elenil. I would crush their skulls. I would grind their bones.”

  “But why do you hate them? Look at the Court of Far Seeing. Isn’t the Crescent Stone beautiful in the sunlight, there on the highest tower? Look at the white walls and the colored flags and the bright river winding through. Do you see the palace on the central hill? I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” It reminded her of the descriptions from the Tales of Meselia—the beautiful, magical cities she had longed to see her entire life. She stopped for a minute and looked at the city, reminding herself of the beauty here, of the good things, of the magic and wonder.

  “Hold, little human,” Night’s Breath replied. “Look again at those fair walls. Do you think they would be a thing of beauty to one such as me? What awaits Night’s Breath behind the walls of Far Seeing?” He snorted. “Death is a better end for one such as I.”

  It was a good question. What would be done with the Scim soldiers? They were prisoners, certainly, but the Elenil would be kind to them, she was sure. Thinking about it, she hadn’t seen any Scim in the city proper. She hadn’t been here long, though, and no doubt they were in a prison or jail cell. Or maybe they were bargained back to the Scim in exchange for Elenil prisoners? She didn’t know. It was a question worth pursuing, she thought, and she promised herself she would not forget to look in on Night’s Breath after they returned to the city.

  The Scim grunted. “Look here. Another fallen human.” It was a boy in white armor, his chest caved in. “Ground to dust beneath the wheels of war. The Elenil could return what they have stolen from the Scim, and the bones of such little fools need not be grist. But until that time comes, I will kill as many as I have opportunity.”

  This one looked to be too far gone. Madeline dreaded the thought of touching another dead body. Her heart beat faster. She didn’t know how many nightmares she would have in the weeks to come. “Let’s take off his helmet,” Madeline said. She steeled herself. If she was going to walk the battlefield looking for survivors, she was going to make absolutely sure who had survived and who had not.

  Night’s Breath removed the boy’s helmet. His black hair was plastered to his face, but she recognized Jason immediately. Oh no. No, no! She fell to her knees at his side. He had come here because of her, and why was he on the battlefield already? He didn’t even agree to fight when he came—he shouldn’t be here, broken and bleeding. Madeline put her face near Jason’s. A faint stirring of breath touched her. He was alive. Barely. She leapt to her feet and screamed for Gilenyia, who made her way toward them with infuriating slowness.

  Gilenyia’s bright eyes flicked between Jason and Madeline, and she seemed to know immediately who he was. “Ah. Your friend. He is grievously wounded. We would need someone in full health, or near enough, to recover him.”

  Madeline’s mind raced. Someone healthy who could take Jason’s place? “Take me,” she said. It would be worth it, and she didn’t have long anyway.

  Gilenyia shook her head. “Would that it were so simple, child. You are healthy only because of our magic. And you have a contract to fulfill to the Elenil. No, it will not work, though it is noble that such would be your first thought.”

  “Okay, so could we help him enough that he could heal naturally? Is there another person on the field like the last one, who is going to die either way?”

  Gilenyia shook her head. “He is too far gone for that, human child. But there are ways.” She turned her head slightly, enough that Madeline followed her gaze to see Night’s Breath, hunched just beyond the circle of human soldiers and attendants who had followed Gilenyia. Oh no. Could Madeline agree to that? She licked her lips, thinking hard.

  Night’s Breath tightened his hands into fists. One of the soldiers, realizing what Gilenyia meant to do, turned, his ax at the ready. Night’s Breath swung one massive arm in a punishing blow, and the soldier flew backward, his helmet toppling from his head. Another soldier moved toward him, but Night’s Breath shattered his knee, then broke into a desperate gallop over the battlefield.

  “His life for your friend’s,” Gilenyia said.

  Jason’s face was almost white. She couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. “That’s not fair,” Madeline said. It wasn’t fair at all. Who was she to make this decision? She knew Jason, knew him to be a loyal and kind person, and she barely knew this Scim soldier at all, but every indication was that he was a terrible creature, bent on destroying every good thing in this beautiful city. Look at this disgusting field, for instance. Dead bodies, ruined war machines, trampled grass and stinking mud. The Scim had done this, not the Elenil. But could she agree to kill him? Her head spun, and her stomach turned over. She couldn’t make this decision. She couldn’t be the judge, the executioner, even if it meant saving her only friend from home.

  “It is precisely fair. What did the beast say to you? No doubt that he would kill us all. That he would rather die than join the Elenil?”

  Blood rushed into her face. “He said both those things.”

  “They are an irredeemable race, Madeline. Violence and shadow are their meat and drink. They choose death over life, darkness over light, filth over food. And your friend—is he a good man?”

  Madeline brushed the hair from Jason’s face. A breath rattled out of him, as if in reply. Her hands shook. She waited for him to take another breath. Please take another breath! He gasped, pulling in another long drag of air. Madeline slumped against him, relieved. There wasn’t time for this, wasn’t time to make this decision. “He took me to the hospital when no one else would help. He came to the Sunlit Lands with me just because he is my friend.” She didn’t know if this was a eulogy or if she was convincing herself to do this thing. All she had to do was say yes to Gilenyia. One simple word and Jason would live.

  “A noble soul,” Gilenyia said. “And you would let him die so that beast can escape and kill yet more noble souls?” She clucked her tongue. “The human morality is so muddied, I cannot make sense of it.”

  Jason’s body began to shake. “Are you going to save him?” Madeline cried.

  Gilenyia smiled, but it was a sad smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “With your approval, child, I will.”

  Jason’s body trembled, and his breath seemed to be all exhalation now, a single sigh coming out for an eternity with no sign he would ever breathe in again. His hands were cold, and she tried to unbuckle his breastpl
ate, but it was caved into his body. She couldn’t tell where it ended and Jason began. “Can’t you just—?”

  “Quickly, child, the beast is nearly away.”

  Night’s Breath was so far now that Madeline didn’t think they could catch him if they tried, and every second that passed he moved farther away. Then Jason’s body went strangely limp, and Madeline shouted, “Yes, yes, do it!”

  Gilenyia whirled and grabbed a spear from a soldier. She hurled it, and it flew across the field, impossibly far and fast. Madeline didn’t know if it was the angle of the light, or if the sun glinted off the shard of metal at the tip, but for a moment the spear flashed like a bolt of lightning. It struck Night’s Breath in the back of the thigh. He cried out and fell.

  Gilenyia’s people scurried across the field toward the Scim, their weapons at the ready. Gilenyia herself scooped Jason up from the ground, paying no attention to the blood that spread across her gown. She leapt across the field with the grace of Rondelo’s stag, overtaking her own people and arriving beside Night’s Breath before anyone else. Madeline ran as fast as she could, choosing her footing carefully so she wouldn’t fall on any of the broken remnants of the day’s battle.

  Gilenyia knelt between the two figures, a bridge between the too-still form of the crushed human boy and the writhing, furious Scim. “Let me live!” Night’s Breath shouted. “Lady, let me live!”

  Gilenyia pushed the Scim down with her left hand and placed her right palm on Jason’s face. A horrible sound, half scream and half defiant shout, echoed across the field. Night’s Breath’s face went slack. The tattooed whorls on his arms and shoulders faded as Madeline watched, and his chest fell still. He looked even more like a beast now that he was dead, his waxy lips falling back from the jutting yellow fangs, the skin of his face sagging toward the ground.