The Crescent Stone

by Matt Mikalatos

  Jason came only a moment behind. He panicked, leaning toward the solid edges of the wall, and fell from his circles, his arms grabbing the landing, his legs kicking out into empty space. Hanali dragged him across the floor. “Stand still and stand straight. Are these instructions truly too difficult for you?”

  “I don’t like hover plates,” Jason said.

  “They are perfectly safe,” Hanali replied. “Only a child would fall from them.”

  Jason snorted.

  A civilized Scim stood nearby, his entire uniform, from boots to gloves, a stark white. Even his dark hair had been caught up in a white tie, and his collar extended even higher than the current style. He had no tusks and small, white, almost human teeth. He bowed gravely. “Sirs and miss, I am called Bright Prism. I will guide you to your audience with the archon.”

  Madeline helped Jason to his feet. “I’m Madeline, and this is Jason. You probably already know Hanali.”

  “Indeed,” Bright Prism said, politely inclining his head. “Kindly follow me.” He led them through an endless series of sumptuous rooms—ballrooms and dining halls, leisure rooms and rooms full of paintings. One room was an indoor garden cunningly made to look as if it were outside by painting on the ceiling and walls and, as near as Madeline could tell, not through the use of magic. They did not pass any kitchens or bathrooms or bedrooms or any evidence that people lived in this section of the tower, though Hanali had assured them these were, in fact, the archon’s quarters. Of course there were no televisions or other technology, though there was a room with a variety of musical instruments. There was no library, a reality of the Sunlit Lands that still struck Madeline as strange. No books, no street signs, no grocery lists, no notes to loved ones. Magic allowed them to mimic high technology in some sense, but they were illiterate.

  Nevertheless, the tour, she suspected, was intended to awe them. They wandered in and out of strange halls, through parties and balls and choral performances. Madeline found it impossible to believe all these things happened constantly and had not been set in motion merely to impress her, Jason, and Hanali. They arrived, at last, at two large golden doors which met at a point two stories above. Bright Prism stood with his back to the doors. “The Duru Paleis are the only doors in the palace. When one seeking entrance places a hand against this door, it can sense their intention. It grants or refuses access based on what is seen in that person’s heart. Archon Thenody has instructed that each of you place your hand upon the handle to request entry.”

  Hanali nodded brusquely, stepped up to the door, and took hold of the long handle that ran down the middle. In a moment he stepped away. “I have been denied entrance,” he said quietly.

  Madeline narrowed her eyes. “We can’t go in without Hanali,” she said.

  “You must,” Hanali said. “It will be worse for me if you do not.”

  Madeline strode to the door. Could it be that Hanali had pretended to be denied access? There had been no flash of light, no obvious display of power. She took hold of the door’s handle. At once the world around her grew dim. The doors alone held light. She noticed, now, carvings in the door’s surface. People moving about, as if in the midst of their day, in a village. One of them, a poor man in ragged clothes, waved to her. She waved back, and a smile spread across his wooden face. He motioned for her to follow him, which she did not understand, but as she concentrated on the man, the scene on the door shifted so that he grew to life size.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  He smiled, and she noticed a simple crown upon his forehead. “An ancient king, long since gone from the Sunlit Lands. I reigned before this palace or city came to be, and my throne was a bale of hay, my crown a twist of holly. They called me the Peasant King. In mockery at first and later with respect. More titles came, in time, but the Peasant King is one I have cherished.”

  “How did you come to be a . . . a door in this palace?”

  “Hmm? Oh! I’m not a door. I saw the door open your mind, and I thought I would say hello. I am no longer in the Sunlit Lands, but I think of the people there as . . . well, the closest word for it would be children. They are my children, and I like to look in on them.”

  “Your children are quite strange.”

  The Peasant King laughed at that. “As are most children! Now, my friend, a word of advice. There are a great many people who want you to be a great many things to them. A savior or messiah or agent of world change.”

  Madeline sighed. “You’re going to tell me to be true to myself or something like that.”

  The king’s eyebrows raised. “Not at all. You are already a person committed to being true to yourself and your friends. I wanted to say only this: the myth of redemptive violence is just that, a myth. Violence solves a problem in the way gasoline solves a fire. There are other paths. They are, almost always, more difficult. Seek them out.” He smiled at her. “The door’s magic fades. Farewell.”

  The king receded into the door, leaving it smooth and untroubled. Madeline jolted back into the real world and found the door had budged under her hand. She pulled, and it swung open. “Come on,” she said to Jason.

  “He must also put his hand upon the door,” Bright Prism said.

  “He comes, or I don’t. It doesn’t matter what the door says.” She gestured to Jason again. He stepped ahead, carefully making his way past Bright Prism and through the doorway. The door shut behind them. The last thing they heard was Hanali calling to them, “Be sure to bow or curtsy!” She couldn’t keep track of when one was meant to curtsy or not. No doubt that was why Hanali kept reminding them.

  The room housed a wide pond with trees growing along the outer edges. A white path wound around the pond to a cottage on the far shore. A fish jumped in the pond. Two moons rose over the cottage. It was, for the first time in many weeks, nighttime. The stars made no noticeable pattern. “We go to the cottage,” Madeline said. Without discussing it, Madeline took the lead and folded Jason’s hand in hers. Her heart was beating fast, thinking about the encounter with the Peasant King and the upcoming audience with Archon Thenody. She was glad Jason was with her.

  “Do we knock?” Jason whispered. They heard nothing but night insects and a brief crashing in the undergrowth.

  The door creaked open as if in answer.

  Madeline stepped in.

  They were in a formal throne room. Archon Thenody sat on a raised throne, several civilized Scim standing near him at attention, two of the blue-clad Elenil soldiers at the base of his dais. “I hate this place,” Jason said. “Everything is the wrong size. The outdoors are indoors, the indoors are outdoors. It’s terrible.”

  Archon Thenody, again wearing his strange golden sheet, raised a hand as if acknowledging them. Madeline curtsied. So did Jason, badly, beside her.

  “Jason,” she hissed.

  “Hanali said we could bow or curtsy.”

  “He meant for you to bow and me to curtsy.”

  “That makes sense. Curtsying is hard.”

  She snickered. Did he do these things on purpose? No doubt he had offended Archon Thenody again.

  “Leave us,” the archon said. The Scim left with crisp, quick steps. “And you,” the archon said, and the guards stepped out the door Madeline and Jason had entered. “Come closer.”

  Madeline walked to the bottom of the dais. The archon stood and flowed down the stairs to her.

  Archon Thenody removed his golden sheet with a flourish, letting it slide to the floor. Underneath he wore white-and-gold brocade clothes that covered everything but his head. Golden crisscross lines of magical connections spread across his entire face. If she hadn’t seen it so close, she knew his skin would appear golden. Even the whites of his eyes had branching golden tattoos, even the roots of his hair follicles. Every bit of him was traced with magical tattoos. At his neck he wore a choker with a facsimile of the Crescent Stone—a black sliver of rock that sparked with purple energy.

  “I thought we should get to know one another
, we three. No need to stand on ceremony,” the archon said. “You made me look the fool on that tower,” he said to Jason. “Fortunately, it was only my closest advisers there. If that had happened on a feast night—the Festival of the Turning is coming, for instance—I would have had to punish you both publicly. Along with that young fool Hanali.”

  “He had nothing to do with that,” Madeline said quickly.

  “He invited you to the Sunlit Lands, did he not? There are rules we follow.” The archon gestured to the floor, and three chairs appeared. He took one and invited them to take the others, which they did. “When recruiting, we only take children. What you call teenagers or younger. Never adults. Never.”

  “Why?” Jason asked.

  “They lack a certain flexibility,” the archon said. He tugged absently on his glove, taking it off, revealing more skin colored gold by his network of magic. “Secondly, they must be in dire need. Perhaps they are victims of war or refugees. Perhaps their parents are cruel and abusive. Some have medical problems, like you, Miss Oliver. There is also the question of whether they can survive the journey. The road to the Sunlit Lands winds through deadly, dire landscapes. If a child cannot cross that road, they cannot come to us.” He tugged off his second glove. “Do you meet this requirement, Mr. Wu?”

  Jason didn’t come back with a joke or a quip for once. He bit his lip, concentrating. “I believe I do, Mr. Archon,” he said.

  “You may call me Thenody here, in private,” the archon said. “May I see your agreement again?”

  Jason pulled off his glove and pushed his sleeve up, then leaned over so Thenody could see it. The archon studied Jason’s bracelet for a long time, the golden pathways on his fingers pulsing lightly. At last, he said, “Your heart’s desire is a dessert. You are a curious creature.”

  “Do I pass your ‘hard life’ test?”

  “I suspect you do. It is hard to say, for your agreement is scarcely magical at all. The delivery of a single pudding cup every day takes less magic than that necessary to make these chairs appear for a few minutes. There is little to be gleaned from your markings. It does not, however, include a promise of fealty to the Elenil, a third requirement of those who come here. Hanali has broken that rule at the least.”

  “But Jason promised loyalty to me, and I’ve promised mine to the Elenil,” Madeline said.

  Thenody leaned back in his chair, studying her, one fingertip resting on his lower lip. He dropped his hand casually to the side and a goblet appeared. He sipped from it lazily. “You speak with such familiarity to me. If I did not know better, I would suspect you contradicted me in that last statement.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Madeline said. Was he doing this on purpose? Telling them to call him by his name, then accusing them of being too familiar when they disagreed with him? He seemed to be purposely pushing them off balance.

  “She completely meant to, you crazy golden psycho,” Jason said, and then dropped his own hand, staring at it to see if a drink would appear in it. When none did, he turned back to the archon and said, “Honestly, it feels like you invited us to a private audience so you could make sure we’d treat you with the proper respect in public.”

  The archon flew from his seat so quickly he knocked his chair backward. A frigid wind blasted Madeline, and when she could open her eyes again, Thenody had Jason by the throat and had lifted him out of his chair. Jason’s hands held the archon’s forearms, pulling his body up to try to lessen the choking. Thenody stalked across the room as if Jason’s weight meant nothing. Madeline scurried after them. The archon moved down a long hallway, pausing in the middle. He muttered something under his breath, and the room expanded. Doors appeared along the hallway.

  Thenody kicked one of the doors open. Instead of revealing another room inside the palace, it led onto a mountainous cliff overlooking a raging sea. The archon stepped onto the cliff, holding Jason over the ocean. Madeline rushed at him from behind, but with his other arm the archon easily stopped her by grabbing her forearm and forcing her to the ground.

  “I would like to make sure,” Thenody said, “that you treat me with the proper respect.” He shook Jason over the edge.

  Jason tried to speak, choking out his words. “I . . . knew . . . it!”

  Disgusted, Thenody threw him aside, leaving him on the ground between the cliff and the door. “You have no natural fear of your betters,” he said. “It is a troubling quality.”

  “He only speaks truth,” Madeline shouted. “It’s not troubling, it’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

  Thenody’s golden eyes drifted down his arm until he found her face. “But you are bound to the Elenil—to me—through your agreement.” He tore off her glove, revealing the silver latticework of her tattoo. He turned her wrist. “This agreement can be canceled,” he said slyly. “No more Sunlit Lands. No more Elenil. No more breathing.”

  “Leave her alone!” Jason shouted.

  “Ah. I have your attention at last.”

  “You already showed us you could do that,” Madeline said. “On the tower.”

  Golden fingers readjusted their grip. The archon touched Madeline’s wrist with his index finger. “See there? That’s where the gem on your bracelet used to be. It has spread now. Much faster than most. But pay attention.” He pushed into her wrist, and a surge of piercing pain spread up her arm and nearly to her shoulder. She screamed. “If I break the gem, the agreement is broken. No breath for you, no oath of fealty to the Elenil.” He dropped her arm. It ached like she had just done a thousand push-ups. “Remember that when next you think to insult me in public. Break the gem if you want to be free from our agreement, but do not think to violate it without dire consequences.” A bell rang, somewhere back in the palace. “Ah. I believe our tea is ready.”

  The archon stood by the door like a hotel doorman. Jason got up, then helped Madeline to her feet. They leaned against each other for strength. The edges of this place were blurry, like a video game where the designers hadn’t managed to get all the scenery finished. “We have to get away from him,” Madeline whispered to Jason.

  They made their way back to Archon Thenody’s receiving room. He motioned to their chairs. They sat, and he served them tea from an antique ceramic teapot with delicate flowers. “Sugar?” he asked, holding a lump of sugar in a pair of golden tongs. Madeline shook her head.

  “Yeah,” Jason said. “Oh, more than that. Yeah. Like, ten of those.”

  The archon smiled faintly, counting them out. “Eight . . . nine . . . ten.”

  “Make it eleven.”

  Thenody frowned, but gave him one more. “Eleven, then. I believe that is all of them.”

  “I hope you wanted some,” Jason said.

  Thenody sighed. “Perhaps I have been overly harsh.”

  “Ya think?”

  The archon took a sip from his cup and said to Madeline, “Perhaps this would be smoother if we were alone.”

  Madeline shot Jason a warning look, terrified they would be separated. “He’ll behave.”

  “Ah, lovely. I suppose he will thank me for the sugar, then.”

  Jason’s face flushed. He clamped his lips tight. “It’s okay,” Madeline said.

  “Thank you,” Jason said.

  “My pleasure,” Thenody said brightly. “Now. I asked you both here because I am concerned about your safety. The Scim—those vile creatures—have expressed an interest in you. I fear it is more than you have heard. The Black Skulls themselves have made it clear that they will not rest until they find you, Madeline. I do not know why they desire you, but they are not so . . . gentle . . . as I am.” His eyes rested on her bare hand.

  Madeline covered it with her napkin. She had left her glove near the cliff. She couldn’t bear to have the archon’s eyes on her bare hand, though, not after he had hurt her arm like that. “We’ll be safe with the Knight of the Mirror,” Madeline said. “Ruth explained his magic to me. Once something is given to him, it can’t be taken away again,
not without his permission. The magic doesn’t allow it.”

  “Yes.” Thenody licked his lips. “It was a clever solution the magistrates came to. A solution they arrived at when I was in great pain and unable to participate in the discussion because of—” his eyes flicked to Jason— “an unfortunate prison break.”

  “Hey!” Jason said. “I bet the knight’s magic means you can’t throw me over any cliffs!”

  “You would be wise not to test such boundaries,” Thenody said.

  “In any case,” Madeline said, “we’re safe.”

  The archon sipped from his teacup. “It is said you will bring justice to the Scim, Miss Oliver. If that is true and not some outlandish tale of Hanali’s, then you are immensely valuable to me. But you should know there are limits to the knight’s magic.”

  “Like what?”

  “A clear boundary: should he choose to give you willingly to the Scim, his magic will be no protection to you.”

  “He wouldn’t do that!”

  Thenody barked a laugh. “How delightful, the innocence of the young. There are certain precious things the knight might value more than your life. That is only one possibility. Or you could be taken during the Festival of the Turning, when all magic that flows from the Crescent Stone ceases. Or his magic could be neutralized somehow. Countered. Evaded.” He raised a hand. “No, I do not know how, only that my seers have said that when the time comes, his magic will not protect you.”

  “The same seers who said Mads is the one who is going to save the world?”

  Thenody sniffed disdainfully. “They have said no such thing. They do not see any special qualities in you or the girl. The other treasures we have given the knight to steward over the decades are of more value. The Sword of Years, perhaps, or the Ascension Robe. Have you heard those names?”

  “Never,” Madeline said, sipping her own tea.

  “The Memory Stone? The Mask of Passing? The Disenthraller? He has mentioned none of these things?”