The Crescent Stone

by Matt Mikalatos

  “I do not recall extending invitations or permission to enter my private room,” Mrs. Raymond said.

  Hanali frowned. “The boy has a way of weaseling into places uninvited.”

  “The door was open,” Jason said, realizing how lame it sounded even as the words left his mouth.

  Mrs. Raymond took the books from Madeline and put them back on the shelf. “Nor did I invite you to paw through my library.”

  “We didn’t mean any harm,” Madeline said. “It’s just that—”

  “Your hands are filthy,” Mrs. Raymond said. She looked at Jason. “His entire . . . What happened to your face, Mr. Wu?”

  Oh yeah. The mud. “Hygiene standards are surprisingly lax here,” Jason said.

  Hanali rolled his eyes. “This from the boy who took a bath while wearing his shoes.” He looked at Jason’s feet and then, with a weary sigh, looked back to his eyes. “Where are your shoes?”

  “I sold them to a Scim kid.”

  Hanali scowled. “You should not be fraternizing with the Scim, Wu Song. It reflects poorly on me as your benefactor.”

  Something in Hanali’s voice caught Jason’s attention. He knew somehow that Hanali was hiding something. Hanali’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, back toward the closet door. “You know,” Jason said, “certain doors in this glorified youth hostel go places they shouldn’t.” He walked toward the closet.

  “Keep your hand off that door,” Hanali said.

  “I have a way of weaseling into places uninvited,” Jason said, and swung the door open.

  Mud lay sleeping on a narrow bed in a stone room. Day Song, Gilenyia’s Scim assistant, looked up from the boy, a washrag in his hand.

  Mrs. Raymond pulled the door shut with a firm hand. “Stay away from the boy. You are covered in filth. He’s in pain enough without an infection.”

  Jason locked eyes with Madeline, but she appeared to have as little idea of what was happening as he did. He looked a question to Hanali, who plucked at his sleeves with nonchalance.

  “Mrs. Raymond has a way of picking up unfortunate strays,” Hanali said. “And should you not be dressing for our audience with the archon?”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Jason said. “I’m glad Mud is getting medical help, but why do you have him here?”

  “Hanali is well known in the Scim community as the Elenil to approach if there are needs,” Mrs. Raymond said.

  Madeline’s eyes widened. “He’s what?”

  “Enough,” Hanali said, steel in his voice. “We will talk no further of these things. The boy will be returned to his home when he is well. No one here will mention this again. Not to me, not to one another, and certainly not to the archon.”

  Mrs. Raymond’s face set to stone. “Hanali, son of Vivi,” she said. “Have you not shared your plans with these two children, even though they are a central piece of it?”

  “Nor would I have shared them with you if you were not so persistent and infernally nosy,” Hanali snapped.

  “Hey,” Jason said, offended. “I’m persistent and nosy too.”

  Hanali glared at him. “You. To the baths. We leave here in one half of an hour. Every particle of mud must be gone from your face.” He turned to Madeline. “And you? Have you more to say? Intrusive questions? Infuriating requests?”

  Madeline blushed. When she spoke, her voice was so low Jason almost couldn’t hear it. “Mrs. Raymond? Could I maybe borrow some books?”

  Mrs. Raymond put her fists on her hips and rounded on Hanali. “These are the children you’ve staked everything on, and you’ve not given them so much as a clue as to the deeper game you’re playing?”

  Hanali gave her a shocked look, his gloved hand on his chest. “Deeper game? My dear Mrs. Raymond, I only desire invitations to more prestigious parties.”

  She glowered at him a moment more before turning to Madeline and saying, “Of course, dear, so long as none of them leave the house—and don’t show them to the Elenil. Since they can’t read, they always think we’re passing secret knowledge. If they catch you with a book, they’ll make you read the entire thing aloud before they let you leave. Now run along and clean up.”

  Jason hadn’t seen Madeline so giddily happy before. She went to hug Mrs. Raymond, who turned her aside with a huff. Still giddy, Madeline grabbed Jason’s hand and pulled him into the hallway. “Mud is going to be fine!” Madeline said. “And there are books!”

  “Yeah. And Hanali has a secret plot. Big surprise, I guess.”

  As if summoned, Hanali opened the door and stuck his head out. “Mr. Wu.”

  “Yes?”

  “Use soap.”

  Hanali closed the door again, leaving Jason alone with the laughing Madeline. “Use soap,” Jason grumbled. He picked up his bag with the suit in it and tossed Madeline her backpack. He started off down the hallway, then realized he had no idea where they were in the massive maze of Mrs. Raymond’s house.

  “Your room is the other way,” Madeline said, passing him. “Don’t be late.”

  Jason turned back, listened to Madeline’s footsteps headed the other direction. When she was gone, he paused by Mrs. Raymond’s room. He could hear dim, concerned voices on the other side. He leaned his head close to the door but couldn’t hear what they were saying. It sounded like Mrs. Raymond was angry and Hanali was trying to mollify her.

  He cracked the door slightly.

  Mrs. Raymond was talking. “—too great a risk, letting them in. Not just to you but to all of—”

  “We’ve already discussed this at length, Mary.”

  “Mrs. Raymond, Hanali. You don’t get to call me Mary anymore.”

  Hanali sighed. “It is a risk. A terrible risk. But, my dear Mrs. Raymond, how could the situation become any worse?”

  There was a pause, and when Mrs. Raymond spoke again, her voice sounded tired and sad. “There is always a way, Hanali.”

  “I suppose,” he said. “But it is the choice I have made. Now. If you will excuse me, I feel an urgent need to check on Mr. Wu. If I leave him alone for even a few minutes, he makes the worst kinds of trouble.”

  Jason jumped away from the door and hugged his bag close to his chest. He half ran, half walked to the end of the hallway and turned right, then speed walked until he knew where he was.

  If he hurried, he should have just enough time to clean up and get dressed. Hanali had asked how the situation could get any worse. Jason had a sinking feeling that he would be the one to figure that out.

  21

  THE PALACE OF A THOUSAND YEARS

  The glory of a king comes from neither wealth nor finery but from the well-being of his people.

  FROM “THE THREE GIFTS OF THE PEASANT KING,” A SCIM LEGEND

  The archon’s palace stood at the center of Far Seeing. A hill rose gracefully beneath it, pastel-colored houses and buildings lapping up along the sides like waves. Shops and markets splashed beneath those, filled with people from all over the Sunlit Lands seeking a trinket or a necessity from carts and stands festooned with bright flags and flowers.

  “None but the Elenil are allowed beyond this point without a host,” Hanali said to Madeline as they stepped down from the carriage. “Humans may neither ride a steed nor carry a weapon. Nor may the Scim, the Aluvoreans, emissaries from the Southern Court, the Zhanin . . . all the other races. They must pause here before entering the heart of the Elenil world and the seat of our magic.” Hanali paused and stared at the pulsing crescent-shaped stone at the apex of the main tower.

  Jason, freshly bathed, straightened his jacket. They had tried to get the durian smell out, but it lingered. Without magic it couldn’t be easily cleaned, and Ruth had told him buying another would be a “luxury” and that he could find his own money rather than spend the knight’s. Shula had not been invited to the palace. She had business elsewhere, she said, and had wanted to reconnect with some of the other soldiers. Jason had asked her about Baileya, a Kakri woman he mentioned from time to time but whom Madelin
e had not yet met. Shula knew her and said she would likely see her and asked if Jason had a message. “Tell her—” Jason said, looking like he was thinking carefully, “—tell her, uh . . . I said hi.” Shula, grinning, had promised to do so.

  For the seventieth time Hanali launched into how to be polite in the archon’s presence. Curtsy or bow. Speak when spoken to . . . with the proper restraint. Do not release Scim prisoners to wreak havoc in the court or mention previous instances where one might have done so. Do not touch the archon. Are you listening, Jason, do not touch the archon. Not with a fist nor with a fingertip.

  Madeline found it painful to hear again, especially since it seemed to be aimed at Jason. The wonders of Elenil architecture distracted her in any case. The main tower of the palace stood in the center: a delicate, slender white column with graceful lines. Nine slightly shorter towers stood at equidistant points around it, with white latticework like lace covering their lower halves. Wide marble stairs arched between the towers, leading to meticulous gardens overflowing with bright, gorgeous flowers. A stunning variety of people and creatures moved up and down those stairs, each of them accompanied by at least one Elenil guide. None of the guards here were human, unlike elsewhere in the city, but only Elenil in splendid royal-blue uniforms with gold trim.

  “It’s beautiful,” Madeline said, almost whispering.

  Hanali paused his lecture and stopped, one gloved hand on the elbow of each of his charges. “It is known as the Palace of a Thousand Years. It was built entirely by hand. No machines from your world, no shortcuts or tools other than what can be held in a person’s hand. Each stair is a single piece, mined by the Maegrom. The Aluvoreans coaxed the gardens into being. Not a single blade of grass was planted—they encouraged local plants to arrive of their own free will. Even the Zhanin participated, in their way, by not interfering with the amount of magic drawn upon in that century. It would cause a war today to use so much power so quickly.”

  “That century?” Madeline asked. “Didn’t you say it was the Palace of a Thousand Years?”

  “Yes,” Hanali said, guiding them to the stairs. “It would have taken a thousand years without magic. There is no comparable architecture in any world I’ve seen. My forefathers built it, I am told, in less than two centuries. A hundred and sixty years, more or less.”

  Jason asked a question, trying to sound nonchalant, but Madeline could tell he asked with purpose. “I’ve been studying Elenil magic. So for these buildings to go up more quickly, there must be other places where building happened more slowly?”

  Hanali’s face lit with delight. “Ah! At last young Jason takes an interest in the culture of the Elenil. Indeed. There are trade-offs. The speed and beauty of this construction means that, by necessity, there is a balance elsewhere. The magic here was carefully wrought, and it is geolocational. Which is to say, the spells made it easier and faster to craft the palace here, on this hill. There is another place elsewhere in the Sunlit Lands, linked to this hill, where it would be immensely difficult—if not impossible—to build. Magic would fight you every step of the way.”

  Jason wrinkled his nose in distaste. He’d probably caught a whiff of himself again. “Where is that place, Hanali?”

  “Somewhere in the Wasted Lands, no doubt. We could ask a storyteller. They keep tales about such things hidden away for curious minds such as yours.”

  They paused at the top of the stairway to appreciate one of the gardens. It sank away to the left of them like an amphitheater and was filled to the brim with fruit trees, luscious grasses, and exotic animals. Peacocks wandered in the shade, shaking their fanned tails. Birds zipped between the branches, and large cats lounged, uncaring, in the dappled sunshine. Madeline gasped. A white mare, as brilliant as mother-of-pearl in the sunlight, stepped out of the trees. She had a long, silver horn protruding from her forehead.

  Jason’s hand clenched Hanali’s forearm. “What is that?”

  Hanali smiled gently. “A rare Earth animal. I believe it is called—what was it now?—ah, yes! A rhinoceros. I’m told they are extinct in old Earth.”

  Seeing the look of impotent rage on Jason’s face gave Madeline the giggles. She tried to keep a straight face, but soon she was leaning against Hanali, wiping tears from her eyes. Jason’s face softened, and soon he was laughing too. Hanali asked what was so funny, but they wouldn’t answer. A foal emerged from the trees and cavorted at the mare’s feet. They both stopped to feed on the sweet grass.

  “We can speak to them later if you wish,” Hanali said. “Though it is rude to laugh at such noble creatures.”

  “They can talk?” Madeline asked.

  “Of course,” Hanali said, as if it were a ridiculous question. “All rhinoceri can speak.”

  They entered the palace through a gateway arch which soared above their heads, several stories tall. There were no gates or doors because, Hanali explained, most of the defensive capabilities were magical. And if an enemy made it this deep into Far Seeing, the defense of the city had already fallen, and it was better to allow their enemies entrance to the palace than risk its destruction.

  The rooms in the tower wound up along the inside of the wall, leaving the center free all the way to the top. Birds glided above them, delivering messages. A series of long ropes hung from different levels of the palace, allowing braver souls to swing across the vast space between the walls. Toward the top of the tower, suspended in a glass room, was a crescent-shaped crystal. Significantly smaller than the one affixed to the exterior of the main tower, it was, like that larger stone, black and glowing with a purple aura. It could be seen even from the bottom of the tower, as the ceiling was made of some sort of glass or transparent crystal.

  “The Crescent Stone. Also called the Heart of the Scim,” Hanali said, noticing Madeline staring. “At the heart of all our magic is that stone. It is displayed there at the top of the Palace of a Thousand Years in a glass room which can only be accessed through the archon’s quarters. It is transparent so all can see if any approach it. I do not know of a person entering that room in a generation or more.”

  “Don’t you mean the Heart of the Elenil?” Madeline asked.

  Hanali, surprised, drew away from her, as if trying to get a better look. “Ha! Of course, that would make sense. Many centuries ago, the Elenil and the Scim exchanged stones. The Heart of the Elenil is with them, the Heart of the Scim with us. Some find it distasteful to call the stone after the Scim, and so they call it the Crescent Stone. In those days, though, we were friends, and the name was without controversy. Those were better days. I am told the Heart of the Elenil is a beautiful stone—so transparent one seems to see a delicate blue sky within it and a faint shine of sunlight in a corona around it. More beautiful, most say, than the stone we keep watch over here.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Jason said. “If that’s the Crescent Stone, what is that big crescent stone that’s on top of the tower? The one we can see from outside? The gigantic one?”

  “Ah,” Hanali said. “Another insightful question. The Crescent Stone itself is smaller than you would think, though great magic flows through it. The stone affixed to the top of the tower is an amplifier, which allows the magic to flow freely into the rest of the Sunlit Lands.”

  Jason’s brow furrowed with concentration. He was working hard to figure this out. “So the true Crescent Stone is not the one on the exterior of the tower.”

  “Indeed not. As I have just said.”

  “Got it,” Jason said, and it sounded as if he had filed that information away for some reason.

  “So where do we meet the archon?” Madeline asked.

  Hanali pointed out a gaudy throne, three times the size of what a normal person would fit on. It was on the fourth through sixth floors and could be seen easily from anywhere in the building other than directly above it. “On feast days and during celebrations, the archon sits on the Festival Throne. Today he desires a more intimate setting, so you are to meet him in the Apex Throne Room
, near the top of the tower.”

  Jason groaned. “That’s a lot of stairs. Couldn’t he meet us down here?”

  “We won’t climb the stairs,” Hanali said. “Step upon these circles.”

  The circles painted on the floor were about the size of dinner plates and all different colors. Madeline stepped solidly into the outline of two dusky-orange ones and, following instructions from Hanali, imagined herself moving to the 114th floor. The circles lifted from the ground and began to move smoothly upward. No ropes or pulleys, no seat belts, and no nets, air bags, or pillows waiting below. She yelped. Jason screamed.

  Jason fell off from about ten feet up, landing in a clutch of Elenil who had the misfortune to be walking below him. They helped him to his feet, clearly unhappy, and sent him floating upward again.

  “Stand up straight!” Hanali yelled to Jason. “Stop flailing!” He floated past Madeline, confidently standing on only one of the flying plates, his other foot moving in graceful arcs, toes pointed.

  They were about thirty stories up now, and Madeline couldn’t bear to look down at Jason. An Elenil swung past her, headed from one side of the wall to the other, his golden hair streaming behind him. “Are you okay, Jason?” she called, still looking toward the top of the tower.

  “Jason wants to take the stairs!” Jason yelled.

  “Posture,” Hanali shouted. “Good posture is paramount, Mr. Wu!”

  The Heart of the Scim stood above them, its purple energy crackling with power. The light gleamed against the glass walls, revealing that it rested on a glass pedestal—it was not floating, as Madeline had believed. It was about the size of a manhole cover—there must be some sort of magnification effect that allowed it to be seen so clearly from the bottom. Above it she could see the gigantic crystal crescent that hung over the tower.

  Hanali floated up and to the left, disembarking with a careless step onto a wide landing. Relieved to be at the end, Madeline held out her gloved hand as she rose to his level, and he took it, helping her to step more or less gracefully from the floating circles.