The Crescent Stone

by Matt Mikalatos

It was dark. Black and silent as night. She could no longer see the garden, the people running, the tower. She lay on her back, staring up into darkness.

  The Garden Lady stood over her, a gentle smile on her face. “Hello, dear. What a day. What a day.”

  “Can’t . . . breathe . . .” Madeline said.

  “No, child, I expect you can’t. Do you want me to change that? Your friend Jason, he might pay the price if you asked. He’s loyal, that one. And brave.”

  “No,” Madeline said firmly.

  “You have two more favors to ask,” the old woman said.

  Madeline thought of her parents. She was so tired. She didn’t want to die here, in the Sunlit Lands. She wanted to go home, and she couldn’t do anything else here, could she? She couldn’t even breathe. She knew she wouldn’t be well again. She was past hope. She had come to acceptance. She needed only courage. “Take me home,” she said. “Please.”

  “That I can do. And one thing more. For a few minutes. Just a few. I will let you speak to your friends before you go. And I’ll give you the breath for it.”

  She was standing in front of Darius. He wasn’t in his Black Skull outfit, just his regular clothes. “I’m going home,” she said.

  He wrapped her in his arms. “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Darius. When Lily said, in the books, there must be something better, she knew it in her heart, do you remember?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re different here, in the Sunlit Lands. Back home you always pretended everything was okay, but here . . . you’re changing things. You’re trying to make that better place.” It was true. The passion with which he protected the Scim, the way he helped her understand what had happened . . . he had opened her eyes. Without him she wouldn’t have figured it all out, would have just lived out her year serving the Elenil, completely unaware of the injustice she was participating in. She would have had her breath, but Yenil would be dead. “You have to stay and help them.”

  “I won’t leave you, Mads. I can’t.”

  She took a deep breath. “Darius, when I broke up with you, it was because . . . How do I say this?” She tried to think of another way to say it, to make him understand, but she couldn’t. How could she tell him how hard this all was for her? How could she make him understand that her heart was breaking to leave him, but not just him . . . everyone and everything she loved in the whole world? “Having you by my side every day, it’s making it harder for me to leave. Harder to say good-bye.”

  “I would follow you to the ends of the earth,” Darius said, his voice catching. He grabbed both of her hands in his.

  Her lips quivered, and tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m going past the ends of the earth,” she said. “You can’t walk this path with me. It’s impossible.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “The only impossible thing is that I would leave you,” Darius said, quoting the book again.

  She almost smiled. Impossible had never been a word that held much meaning for him. “When you’re with me . . . it’s making it harder, Darius. Harder to walk these last few steps.”

  She could see that he understood now. The most loving thing he could do was to say good-bye, to let her go. Darius said, “These last months without you, Mads . . . I’ve been so lonely.”

  Tears fell down her cheeks. “Darius, even when we’re apart, we’re together, because you’re in my heart. And if we’re together . . . if we’re together I won’t be afraid.” She was quoting from The Gryphon under the Stairs, so she knew what he would say next.

  He took both of her hands in his own. “Then let’s see what beautiful things await.” His face hardened, and he wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m going to fix things, Mads. I’m going to save the Scim, fix the broken system here.”

  Darius was starting to disappear. She could see through his hands. She didn’t want him to go, didn’t want this to be the end. “If I go—if you come home, and I’m gone—know that I have always loved you.”

  “I love you,” he said. “How can I go on without you?”

  He faded away before she could answer.

  Break Bones stood before her. “What trickery is this?” He grunted. “The old woman in the garden. Is this her doing?”

  Madeline wiped the tears from her eyes. “She said I could say good-bye to my friends. I’m not sure why you’re here.”

  He frowned, his wide face contorted in displeasure. “I made a vow to my people that whoever returned the Sword of Years to the Scim, I would be in their life debt. You gave the sword to the girl, Yenil. I am at your service.”

  Madeline grinned in spite of her sadness. “What does that mean?”

  “I am at your service,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

  “Take care of Wu Song,” she said. “Help him. Don’t kill him. Be a friend to him.” And the Scim faded away.

  Jason appeared. “The Garden Lady said you’re going home. Shula and Yenil, they’re going with you.”

  “They are?” She was shocked but pleased. It was right for Yenil to come. She didn’t have any parents now, and that was because of Madeline. She could have a home and a family. It should be Madeline’s. And it was good for Shula to come too. Yenil would need another familiar face if—when—Madeline wasn’t around anymore.

  “I’m, uh . . .” Jason blushed. “I’m engaged. To Baileya. By accident.”

  Madeline laughed and hugged him. “That’s amazing. She’s wonderful.”

  “She’s . . . she’s terrifying, mostly.” He gripped her forearms. “Madeline, I made a promise to stick with you. To protect you. It’s because . . . well, it’s a long story. I lost my sister, and I don’t want to lose you. But I’ve come to realize that I can’t protect you. I can’t save you. That’s not in my power.”

  She squeezed his arms. “That’s true.”

  He looked down. “I need to let what happened to my sister go. It wasn’t my fault.”

  She didn’t know what had happened, not exactly, although there had been rumors around the school. “That’s true.” She put her hand on his cheek. “You need to let me go too. There are things for you to do here, in the Sunlit Lands. Right?”

  He nodded. “Something keeps pulling at me. The stories here. I’m not done. I think . . . I think you did the right thing, not destroying the stone. It was too violent. It would force people to do the right thing. We need to teach them to want the right thing. I see this story, or a thread of a story. I think if I pull on it, see where it goes . . . I think I might be able to find the right words. Do you understand what I mean?”

  She did, somehow. She saw a flash, a vision, of Jason standing in the middle of a city, weather beaten and worn. He was telling a story, and people were weeping all around him. “The Peasant King,” she said. “Is it his story?”

  He looked at her, startled. “Yes. I keep seeing it in Night’s Breath’s memories. I need to find the rest of the story, and . . . and I need to go and see his family. I need to tell them what happened.”

  She held him for a long time. “Wu Song,” she said. “If I die before you come home—”

  “I’ll see you before you die,” he said, with a strange firmness in his voice. “You know I never tell a lie.”

  Tears crowded into her eyes. She wanted to believe him, wanted to think they would see each other again. He looked so certain, so sure. And it was true, she had never known him to tell a lie. “I know you don’t,” she said, smiling as the tears rolled down both of their faces.

  Then Wu Song was gone, and she struggled for another breath, and she felt the branches of the hedge slapping against her face, and Shula’s strong arm holding her up, and Yenil on her other side, and they appeared in her backyard. It was nighttime. She couldn’t breathe. She fell to the grass, sobbing. A light came on, and Sofía came running across the grass. Shouts came from the house.

  She was home.

  36

  A NEW JOU
RNEY

  After the rain, the desert blooms.

  A KAKRI PROVERB

  Even from outside the city, Jason could see the corrupted palace and the way it listed to one side, its holes black against the white stone. In the chaos of the collapsing tower, they had managed to make it out with almost no fighting. The shattering of the tower’s stone and the subsequent departure of the Kharobem had distracted most of the people in the city. Many of the citizens, upon hearing that another Scim attack was happening, had barred themselves into their homes. The Knight of the Mirror had ridden out with Jason and Baileya through the southern gate, following Hanali’s orders. “It will take some time to put it all back together,” the knight said. “The archon’s magic is struggling.”

  “Where were you, anyway?” Jason asked. “During the big fight?” He was riding the giant bird, the brucok, his arms around Baileya’s waist. It might have made him blush on another day, but honestly, too much energy was going into making sure he didn’t fall off. Delightful Glitter Lady let loose a high-pitched squeak, her tiny head peeking from his pocket. He scratched behind her ears.

  The knight didn’t answer. He had met them halfway down the tower, as if summoned, and escorted them quickly through the ranks of Elenil. The messenger birds had begun to spread throughout the city by then, passing along the story of the girl who had destroyed the magic that kept her alive. A debate had ignited, the Elenil arguing over whether such a thing was noble or foolish.

  It wasn’t safe in the city for Jason, though, that much was clear. Passions ran too high. Some Scim kids had thrown stones at him for not destroying the Heart of the Scim. An Elenil woman had given him a bouquet for the same reason.

  Break Bones had met them outside the city. Baileya had advanced on him with her weapon, but he had thrown his own down and explained that he owed a life debt to Jason now. Wanting to make sure he wasn’t lying, Jason had commanded him to dance and sing a silly song. When Break Bones assured him he didn’t know such a song, Jason had taught him “I’m a Little Teapot,” complete with actions, and Break Bones had performed it admirably, despite his scowl.

  Darius had flown ahead to tell the Scim elders that Jason and Baileya were coming. Break Bones had given Darius the Sword of Years and told him to return it to the elders. Jason didn’t know what sort of welcome would be waiting in the Wasted Lands, but he knew it should be the first step. Of course Baileya’s family was still trying to kill him, and he hadn’t told her yet that their engagement was accidental. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He wasn’t sure he wanted out of it, either.

  Hanali had disappeared after the events in the garden, but before he went, he had assured Jason he would be fine. He felt certain Thenody wouldn’t make a public move against him. “The politics of the Elenil are subtler than that,” he had said. Gilenyia had stayed at the archon’s side, working her magic, bringing him back to health as best she could. The wound from the Sword of Years, she said, would not heal easily or well. Jason couldn’t help but think that reattaching the archon’s severed arm would mean some Scim somewhere without a hand. He didn’t understand why she would try to heal Thenody when she had been part of the plot to overthrow him. He had asked Hanali before he left. “We are a loyal people,” the Elenil said. “Thenody is still the archon and thus should be cared for and obeyed.” Jason didn’t get it, but whatever.

  “When you return,” the knight said, “enter through the eastern gate. Undetected if you can. You will be safe in Westwind. Send a bird ahead so I can warn you if it is unsafe.” He paused and looked toward the west. A messenger bird was flying toward them. The knight held his arm up, and it landed on his wrist.

  “What word bring you?” the knight asked.

  “Word from the realm of the Zhanin,” the bird said. “From a young man named Kekoa and a girl called Ruth.”

  Jason almost fell off the brucok. “What? What did they say?”

  The bird turned its green head to see Jason more clearly. “They are in danger,” the bird said. “They request your help. They warn that the Zhanin mean to kill the one called Jason and the woman Madeline.” Jason groaned. Of course there were more people wanting to kill him. He hoped David had made it safely to Aluvorea.

  “Why? We don’t even know them.”

  “They assassinate those who threaten the balance of magic in the world,” the knight said. “They must see your recent actions as a threat.”

  Baileya looked west. “We will be careful. To see more Zhanin in this part of the world would be strange indeed.”

  Jason slapped his forehead. “Is there anyone not trying to kill me?”

  “Not I,” Baileya said, and she gave Jason a look so loaded with affection that he felt a flush that ran from his face all the way to his toes.

  “Nor I,” said the knight.

  Break Bones didn’t say anything, but he was cranky like that. Delightful Glitter Lady honked her approval.

  “Four,” Jason said. “Well, that’s a start.”

  They turned the brucok southward, and the knight wished them safe journey.

  When both Break Bones and the knight were out of earshot, Baileya patted Jason’s hand gently where it encircled her waist. “Your sister would be proud,” she said to him. “You are a man who shares his stories generously. You are honest and kind. Such men are always threatened with death.”

  “You honestly scare me so much,” Jason said.

  Baileya turned so her silver eyes were all he could see. “She would be proud,” she repeated. She turned away again and kicked the bird. As it began to run, she said, “As I am proud.”

  Jason held her tighter and let the wind push the water from his eyes. He promised himself that he would be worthy of Baileya’s pride, no matter the cost. He did not speak until night fell.

  EPILOGUE

  To see another is the birth of Compassion.

  FROM “RENALDO THE WISE,” A SCIM LEGEND

  At night, Yenil liked to play in the garden.

  Tonight there was a full moon, and the blue light washed over the flowers. It reminded Madeline of the Wasted Lands. Not what it was, but what it could be. She sat wrapped in a blanket, in a wheelchair on the crushed-seashell path. She held the book Darius had given her, the first edition of The Gryphon under the Stairs, in her lap. She didn’t like to be apart from it—it reminded her of him.

  Shula sat beside her. Without the magic of the Sunlit Lands, they spoke to one another in French or, increasingly often, in Shula’s hesitant English. It had been two months. Yenil’s English came quickly, and Shula was not far behind her.

  Madeline’s parents had been astonished, grateful, and disbelieving when they saw her that first night. She had been gone ten months, they said, and they had begun to believe the worst. They had taken Shula and Yenil in with surprising good grace, though Madeline could see the strain on them. She wasn’t able to answer their questions in a way they could grasp. She couldn’t explain her absence, or her sudden reappearance, or her silver scars, the ones that precisely matched the ones on the little girl who showed up with her.

  Yenil—unless someone looked very closely—appeared human when not in her war skin. Honestly, Shula—a Middle Eastern girl who didn’t speak English—had been a harder sell than Yenil for her parents. “Does she have a green card?” her mother kept asking in a hushed whisper. When Madeline explained about the Sunlit Lands, a confused look would cross her parents’ faces, and they would stop pushing. She heard them whispering sometimes, sharing their strange theories of where she had been. But eventually the gravity of “putting on their happy faces” took over. Her mom went back to managing appearances, and her dad went back to work, and things were, more or less, normal again. Soon they stopped asking questions, whether because they didn’t want to or couldn’t understand the answers, Madeline didn’t know.

  Yenil was amazed by the house. She kept saying she lived in an Elenil mansion now. Madeline had tried to correct her at first but had given up. She wasn’t wrong, M
adeline had realized.

  She couldn’t breathe freely anymore. But she saw now that her family, her upbringing . . . She was more like the Elenil than the Scim. Which wasn’t bad. It wasn’t wrong. But she was looking at her life now, her privileges and power and wealth, in a new way. She was looking for those places where she could breathe only because others were holding their breath. And she planned to take a sword to each and every place she discovered.

  Yenil bounded up through the moonlight, delighted at some treasure she had found. She placed it in Madeline’s hand. “What is it called?”

  “A bottle cap,” Madeline said.

  “Bottle cap,” Yenil repeated and giggled. “Bottle cap!” she shouted. “Bottle cap, bottle cap!”

  She danced into the garden, laughing and shouting. “Chase, Shula, chase!”

  Shula jumped up, running after her into the garden. “Here I come!”

  Madeline loved to see Yenil playing. Some nights Yenil woke from nightmares. Some nights she couldn’t sleep for weeping. Shula slept with her and sang to her. Madeline’s own mother went in to comfort Yenil some nights, a strange motherly action Madeline couldn’t remember her mom ever doing for her.

  “She’s a dear girl and knows the value of a good bottle cap.” The Garden Lady stood beside Madeline, her broom-like hair bursting out from her floral fringed hat.

  Madeline smiled and moved her fingers in a tiny wave. She didn’t use the energy to speak. She heard Shula and Yenil on the other side of the flowers, singing a Scim lullaby, which Yenil often hummed to herself. She had taught it to Madeline and Shula. Do not cry in the darkness, but follow the small bright star.

  The old woman grunted and rearranged her hat. “I owe you a favor yet, dear. I’m not the kind who leaves a favor unfulfilled. What would you like? Silver and gold? Your breath back again? Anything in my power, child. Ask and I’ll give it.”

  Madeline shook her head. She knew the cost now. She couldn’t ask for magic that came at another’s expense. “Sit . . . beside me,” Madeline said. “Tell me . . . about . . . the Sunlit Lands. Tell me . . . about my . . . friends. Tell me . . . a story . . . about them.”