“This way,” Fernanda said urgently, leading them to a corner of the room where a wooden ladder lay, a ladder that Madeline hadn’t noticed before. With Shula’s help Fernanda propped it in the corner. She climbed the rungs and pushed open a sort of hatch. The roof was sloped, but built onto the side was a wide wooden platform. An enormous bird perched there, a saddle on its back.
Shula climbed on first. Madeline passed her the sword, then mounted behind her, encircling her waist with her arms. Her breathing came shallow and fast. “Farewell,” Shula said.
“Go with God,” Fernanda replied. “Come home once your duty is done!” Then she whispered to the bird, “To Pastisia!”
The bird let out an ear-shattering call, crouched down, and shoved itself into the sky. Its wings spread wide, and it circled once, twice, around the tower, gaining height with each pass. Far below, the Scim fought their bloody battle with the Elenil. Fires blazed throughout the city. The bird turned northeast, gliding over the city walls. A Scim far below loosed an arrow at them, but it fell away long before reaching them.
The darkness was so deep, they couldn’t see the ground once they left the firelit city. Despite the knight’s warning, Shula kept the bird flying high, saying she was worried about trees or other obstructions in the dark. The stars burned above, but there was no moon. A dark ribbon glittered with starlight below, a river wending its way through the land. They flew with astonishing speed, the air cold and piercing. It seemed to help Madeline’s breathing a little, though she shivered almost without ceasing. It was because of her shivering that she didn’t feel the bird shaking at first.
“Oh no,” Shula said.
“What . . . is it?”
“Hold on,” Shula said. Then again, yelling, “Hold on!”
Madeline wrapped her arms tighter around Shula.
The bird was shrinking. It was still large, large enough to hold them both, but not large enough to stay airborne. It was struggling, flapping with all its might, but they were falling, falling toward the unseen ground below. The Sword of Years tumbled from Madeline’s grip. She reached for it, gasping, and then she was falling, faster than the bird and Shula. She closed her eyes and braced herself.
She hit the water, hard, before she had a chance to take even half a breath.
28
THE FALL
Thou shalt flee to the east, and walk dunes alone in sunshine and shadow, eater of carrion.
Thy sister shall be the crow, thy brother the hyena.
FROM “THE ORDERING OF THE WORLD,” AN ELENIL STORY
The door shuddered in its frame, but the heavy bar held. Splinters flew, and a thick stone blade split a hole. The knight stood three steps above the door, sword at the ready. Baileya stood two steps above him, her double-bladed staff as wide as the stairway. Jason stood six steps up from Baileya. The knight had taken Jason’s short sword and given him a mace. It was, essentially, a weighted club with spikes on it.
“Always keep the upper ground,” the knight said. “If I fall, do as Baileya says. The narrow stairs work to our advantage. Any creature that passes me and this warrior maid must be fierce indeed, but hopefully wounded.”
Jason cleared his throat. “Then I whack it in the head with the pointy club.”
“The mace,” the knight said. “Indeed. Well said, young warrior.”
There came another shuddering crash from the door and guttural shouts from the Scim on the other side. The knight clasped Baileya’s forearm, and she his. “It has been an honor to fight alongside you, daughter of the desert.”
“If we live,” she said, “this shall be a story of great value among my people. The honor is mine, Sir Knight.”
“Likewise,” Jason said. “Honor to die with everyone, et cetera.”
Baileya grinned at him, and her pale-silver eyes twinkled like starlight. “Even in the face of death you raise the spirits of your companions.”
He managed not to blush this time, but her words warmed him right to the tips of his fingers. He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, something he found challenging when holding a mace. “It might be my only contribution to this fight.”
“Make ready,” the knight said, as another fall of the ax tore a hole in the door. Great grey fingers reached through, trying to rip the boards apart, but the knight sliced at them. Howling erupted from the other side of the door.
For a bare second a black eye peered through the hole in the door, disappearing before the knight’s sword could rise to meet it. “Beware, Scim, lest thou lose thine eyes at my door.”
Jason laughed. “Nice one, King James.”
“It is the ancient language of kings and knights,” Baileya said.
“Behold! I doth know that so much already,” Jason said, swinging his mace, which hit the stone wall and jarred his arms. “Ouch.”
Delightful Glitter Lady leaned against him and let loose a high-pitched whine.
There was a momentary silence on the other side. A Scim shouted, “They have a unicorn upon the stairs!”
Jason patted Dee on the back. That’s right, you nutty people of the Sunlit Lands. Be afraid of my rhino. Call it a unicorn if you like.
The door shattered inward. The first Scim to cross the threshold fell to the knight’s sword. Three more Scim rushed upon him. He sidestepped the stroke of an ax, kicked a second Scim, and drove his elbow into the jaw of a third. Baileya darted forward and stabbed a Scim over the knight’s shoulder.
Then, chaos.
The knight stacked the bodies of the wounded Scim before him to impede their comrades, but the Scim snagged feet and arms and dragged them away so that a fresh wave of attackers could advance. For a time, Baileya switched places with the knight so he could rest. The fighting seemed to go on for hours, and the smell of sweat and blood and the sound of metal on metal rang endlessly in Jason’s ears. When Baileya and the knight switched places again, the Scim retreated and moved away from the doorway.
“What’s happening?” Jason asked.
“They will try a new approach,” Baileya said. “Perhaps they will scale the tower?”
The knight shook his head and said softly, “They do not know our numbers. Perhaps we have guards above with hot pitch or bow and arrow.”
“Sir Knight,” came a booming voice.
“I am here,” the knight called.
“In time we will take this tower. Is this not true?”
“Aye,” the knight said, “unless ye be a battalion of knaves and cowards.”
“Thinkest thou that we are such?”
“I said not so, sir.”
“Sir Knight, may I approach in peace that we may exchange a few words before the fight recommences?”
The knight whispered something to Baileya, then called, “Aye, but with empty hands, sir.”
A Scim came into view, palms up. He looked up the stairs to see the knight, Baileya, and Jason standing there, each holding a weapon, and the rhinoceros lounging at Jason’s side. The Scim laughed and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “Wu Song. Truly, you are a thorn of great length and sharpness inserted deeply into my side.”
Jason waved. “Hey, Break Bones. Good to see you.”
“Why dost thou seek parley?” the knight asked.
“Oh, good Sir Knight, I thought it might be pleasant to converse before thy death.”
The knight set his sword against the wall, point on the stairs. He massaged his sword arm with the other. “Speak then, sir. Night is burning away, and when the sun returneth so doth the magic of the Elenil.”
Break Bones laughed, his great grey boulder of a head nodding in delight. “Ah, such a pleasure, Sir Knight, to speak with thee. Thou art as fierce in words as in battle. Yes, soon the magic of the Elenil shall return.” His grin disappeared, and his wide hands clenched at his side. “Not so the army of the Scim. Thou and the Kakri child have killed or wounded a full two score.”
“Speak and be done,” Baileya said. “I grow weary of your stalling.”
Break Bones stood straight. “Ah, the child has a tongue, and sharp enough. Surrender the artifacts of the Scim to us, and we shall take you captive until first light, then release you—you and all in the tower, save Wu Song and his friend Madeline. For I have sworn to kill her and then him.”
“No deal,” Jason said. The knight and Baileya said nothing, staring at the Scim. “Right, guys? No deal, right?”
The knight spoke. “Break Bones. Didst thou pause our battle to insult us? I am a knight and a man of honor. Thou must live according to thy vows, and I according to mine. The artifacts of the Scim are under my protection, and I cannot give them willingly into thy hands.”
“I intended no insult. My offer was meant as a kindness. We will fight ye for the hours it takes to wound or tire ye, and then take what ye will not give. In a moment we shall return.” He paused, then said, “Wu Song. You have always spoken truth to me, so I must do the same.”
“Is it that you like my shirt?” Jason asked. “A lot of people have said that.”
“No, child. It is said among the Scim that you have murdered Night’s Breath. Is this so?”
Jason considered this. When the magic had snuffed out, Jason hadn’t. Which meant Night’s Breath had died. Died so he could live. Madeline had made that choice, not him, but it was true. Night’s Breath had died because of Jason. He took a deep breath and started to answer. Stopped. Tried again. He couldn’t bring himself to say the simple answer—yes. Instead he said, “Technically, I was unconscious. So . . . not really. It wasn’t my decision.”
Break Bones seemed to deflate a little. “Ah. I had hoped it to be but a rumor. He was used to heal your wounds and died of them? Is that the shape of it?”
“I didn’t choose it,” Jason said, “if that makes a difference. It wasn’t me, exactly. I’m horrified by it.”
“But you are the one who benefited,” Break Bones said. “You did not kill him, but you inherited his life.”
“It wasn’t me,” Jason repeated. “It’s a horrible thing, but I’m not a murderer, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“No, it was not you,” Break Bones said. “It was your allies. Now a great prince of my people lies dead, and his life throbs in your veins. His life was taken in payment for yours, and you stand upon those stairs and say it is not your fault.”
“It’s not my fault!”
“Yet he is dead, and you still breathe.”
“I can’t change that,” Jason said. He stopped, uncertain of the rules of the Sunlit Lands. He asked Baileya, “Wait, I can’t change that, can I?”
She shook her head. “Death comes but once.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jason said. “I can’t bring Night’s Breath back to life. So you can’t hold me responsible for his death.”
“Tell that to his orphaned children,” Break Bones said. “Who will care for them now? Their father is dead, and you will use his life for some other purpose than to care for them. You will not serve his people or walk his mother to meet the Peasant King. Are these not your choices? You did not murder him, perhaps, but his blood is on your hands.”
“That’s not fair,” Jason said.
“So says his wife. So say his children and his mother and his neighbors. Yet here you stand. Alive.”
“Why are we talking about this? Did you just want me to feel bad before you killed me?”
The Scim frowned, his eyes sad. “No, Wu Song. I told you this so you would understand: every Scim in this city has made a blood oath to return Night’s Breath’s life to his people.”
“Um,” Jason said. “Just to be clear . . . Are you saying that every Scim in the city has taken an oath to kill me?”
“Indeed, and to bear your body back to Night’s Breath’s widow.”
Jason’s knees felt weak. “Well. Thanks for letting me know.”
Break Bones bowed. “Sir Knight. Lady. Wu Song. In a moment our battle will recommence, at your signal. Fare ye well.”
The Scim disappeared.
“Are ye ready?” the knight asked, still using his archaic speech.
Baileya shook her staff. Jason just shook. He couldn’t say anything. He had known theoretically the Scim were willing to kill him, but that was a bit different than all of them taking a vow to kill him. Overwhelmed by the whole thing, he shouted, “You know, I’m actually a pretty nice guy if you take the time to get to know me!”
Break Bones’s voice came echoing to them as he addressed his soldiers. “Kill whomever you must to take the tower. What belongs to the Scim we return to our people. Whoever lays hands upon the Sword of Years and returns it to our people, be it Scim or Elenil, human or Kakri, I shall be in their debt for every day of my life. Are ye ready, my brethren? Are ye prepared, sistren?”
A roar came from the army of the Scim.
The knight brandished his sword and shouted, “Come then, Scim! Do your worst.”
They did. Four Scim rushed in, two in front and two in back. While the knight fought the front two, the two in the back sliced at him. He made quick work of them, but as he knocked the fourth down the stairs, it revealed a fifth Scim kneeling at the bottom of the tower, a crossbow in his hands trained directly at the knight.
The knight turned fast enough to spare his heart, but the bolt sank into his sword shoulder. With a cry, Baileya leapt over him, darted out of the stairway, and killed the Scim. She snatched the crossbow and two bolts that had fallen to the ground before scrambling back to the relative safety of the stairway.
“Well done,” the knight said, pale and bleeding on the stairs.
“Whatever Scim next ascends the stairs receives a bolt for their trouble,” Baileya shouted.
“Help me ascend,” the knight said to Jason.
They retreated ten steps up, so that they bent around the corner and could no longer see the entrance. Baileya removed the bolt from the knight’s shoulder with a swift and practiced hand. She loaded the crossbow and waited a few steps below them.
The blood flowed rhythmically from the wound. With the knight’s coaching, Jason ripped some cloth from the knight’s tunic and pressed it against the wound. He hadn’t seen so much blood since what had happened with his sister.
“Press harder,” the knight said. “Good. Now tie it. Yes, like that. Well done, Wu Song.”
Baileya loosed a bolt at the first Scim to show his head, and all fell quiet again.
“Next they will overwhelm us with numbers,” the knight said. “No doubt they grow restless at the thought of dawn’s approach.”
The next wave of Scim came in a vicious, angry mob. Baileya dropped one with a bolt, and the knight stood behind her, trying as best as he was able to keep them from passing him on the stairs. Jason reached for his mace only to realize with some horror that he had left it farther down the stairwell, leaning against the wall. He hadn’t really needed it so far and had forgotten to bring it in the excitement of the knight’s wound.
One Scim made it past the knight, and Jason kicked it in the teeth as hard as he was able. Baileya didn’t notice, but he made a note to tell her later that her “use your feet” advice had worked.
That’s when he noticed Delightful Glitter Lady twitching. Or shaking—it was hard to say. “What’s wrong, girl? Are you okay?” She seemed to be having some sort of attack. She crooned to him, distressed, then ran down the stairs. “Come back, Dee! It’s not safe!”
Then he understood.
The magic had worn off. The magic that made her small.
She grew to a monstrous, full-size rhino just as she squeezed between the legs of a Scim. The newly gigantic rhino smashed the Scim into the ceiling and kept growing. She filled the whole stairway. The stones started to give at her sides. No one would be getting past her. She snorted and cried, pawing at the stairs, eager to burst through the wooden doorframe and fight.
“Quickly,” the knight said. “Take me up.”
Together Jason and Baileya managed to get him up the stairs. Dee was snorting an
d shuffling below, the stairway starting to give way. The Scim were shouting and yelling from the other side. It sounded like the sudden appearance of a unicorn had frightened them so badly they were terrified to approach her. Who knew if there were more on the other side?
They passed the shattered mirror, then the garderobe, and came at last into the knight’s solar. Fernanda had stacked everything heavy in the room close to the door, ready to form a barricade. The knight looked out the open windows of the tower. “Too many hours still until sunrise,” he said to himself. He took Fernanda’s hands, pulling them away from studying the dressings on his wound. “My lady, I must ask you a hard favor.” He placed the Memory Stone in her hand.
“No!” she said. “It is too cruel. I have hours of freedom still.”
The knight took the Mask of Passing from Baileya. “It is cruel, lady. And yet . . . only you can enter the mirrors. Come daylight the stone and mask will reappear in the world, and none will be able to take them from my hand. It will be some small victory tonight.”
“What?” Jason stared at him, completely mystified. “Why didn’t you send all of the artifacts into the mirror in the first place, then? And I thought magic didn’t work right now?”
“I do not know for certain what daylight will bring,” the knight said. “Perhaps the Scim will rule Far Seeing. In which case, the farther away the artifacts, the better.” He paused. “And the magic that lets her enter the mirrors is not of the Elenil . . . unlike the magic that has trapped her there.”
Jason picked up the Mask of Passing. “We can still get out of here,” he said.
“The bird is gone,” the knight said. “It won’t return. There is no rope long enough, no weapon powerful enough, to remove us from this tower now.”
Jason listened, his finger on his chin. “True. But you know what I always say? Poop has to go somewhere.”
Baileya understood first. “No,” she said. “It is too long of a drop.”
“Into water,” he said.
The Crescent Stone Page 32