The School for Good and Evil #5: A Crystal of Time

by Soman Chainani

  The rope breaks over my wrists.

  My eyes meet hers. “I didn’t take your son . . . because he’s . . . a . . . fool.”

  I stab a finger and shoot her off me with a blast of light, her shrieks resounding down the hill.

  I try to stand, but I’m still choking for air. Around me, our team is beaten back as dozens more pirates surge into battle.

  Where are they all coming from?

  The enchanted sack, I realize.

  Gillikin fairies are pulling them out from inside, biting their binds loose.

  The Sheriff must have caught these pirates into his sack, only to now have them used against us.

  One of these pirates—the captain, Kei—drags Robin and the Sheriff out of the Sheriff’s sack too, where they’d just been held by the fairies. Both are tied at their hands and feet, and the captain shoves them down onto the stage with the rest of our defeated team, where guards and leaders assail them and my students with weapons and fists. Attacked from all sides, they shrink into the middle of the stage, collapsing on top of each other like lambs mauled by wolves. Agatha and Tedros are the only ones still standing, swinging desperately at Rhian’s men—Agatha using the bag on her arm, Tedros brandishing his knuckles—but they’re both felled in seconds, crashing backwards onto the heap of bodies. Robin, the Sheriff, Guinevere, Hort, the witches, our entire fleet: they’re flailing on the ground, surrounded by the enemy, a pile of flesh being pounded into the stage.

  No one bothers with me, the frail shrew who can’t even get up.

  Then I see Rhian, stalking towards the stage, blood caking his face like a mask, the Ice Giant at his side. Rhian’s heading for my students, Agatha and Tedros in his crosshairs, Excalibur in his hands.

  I will myself to my knees, still dizzy. I have to save them. I have to save the king . . . the real king. . . .

  But as I plant my hands on the stage’s planks, something glows through the gaps in the wood.

  Green eyes flashing like a stowaway cat’s.

  “Sophie,” I gasp.

  “Shhh! Is it over yet? Is Rhian dead?”

  “No, you spineless twit! We’re all about to die! You have to help us!”

  “I can’t! Robin left me a message! He said to make Rhian think I’m on his si—”

  She freezes. I do too.

  The Queen of Jaunt Jolie is gaping at us from behind the stage, watching me and Sophie conspire like friends instead of enemies.

  Sophie turns on me with fire. “You think you can trap me here under the stage while my king fights alone! You shriveled dragon! I’d rather die than abandon my love!” She raises a glowing finger and blasts me with a stun spell, shooting me backwards off the stage and crushing my flank against hard dirt.

  Sophie tried to soften the blow, but magic follows emotion and her fear made the spell worse. The pain is red-hot, as if I’ve been impaled by a firebolt. My ribs are cracked, my lungs cast in iron. I try to suck air into my throat, but my ears are ringing with a tone so high and strident that I can only grit my teeth. My spirit dims like a dying candle, my heartbeat slackens, as if this is the last my body can take, as if there’s no coming back from this.

  But I have to fight. No matter what it costs.

  I turn my head in the dirt and pry open my eyes, my head feeling like a melon that’s been dropped from a tower. Water clouds my vision and I blink, struggling to see what’s in front of me.

  The Queen of Jaunt Jolie is gone.

  But Rhian’s storming towards Tedros now, the prince exposed at the top of the prisoner pile, pirates bludgeoning him. Rhian hurls his guards aside and, with a snarl, swings Excalibur at his rival’s chest—

  Sophie crashes into Rhian, acting as if she’s been helplessly pushed in the mayhem, sending Rhian careening onto the mound of bodies. Pirates and leaders try to extricate the king from the pile, the Ice Giant leading the efforts, while Tedros, Agatha, Hort, Robin, and others try to wrest Rhian back, their only leverage against a sure death.

  Meanwhile, Sophie keeps throwing pirates aside so she can pretend to help Rhian, mewling “My king, my love!”, only to let go anytime she has a firm grip, dropping him back into the cesspool of bodies. More pirates trying to save the king get pulled into this hellpit, including the Ice Giant, who topples like a tree, smashing into the stage. Wooden planks shatter and the platform implodes, sending every last soul, friend and foe, plunging to the grass and rolling down the hill. Flying wood obliterates the frozen blocks with Hester, Anadil, Dot, and the demon, who slide out of the ice and plummet down the slope with the rest. As bodies pile up at the base of the hill like a human bonfire, those defending the king meld with the students defending the school, fists and limbs flying, screams rising up like a smoke cloud, until I haven’t the faintest clue who is who.

  Except one.

  A prince glowing in the sun, gold hair matted in sweat, blue eyes afire as he fights for his kingdom, his people, the way his father once did, a Lion amongst kings.

  Then it comes.

  The answer I’ve been waiting for.

  Floating out of my soul, like a pearl.

  Not an answer, but a spell.

  A spell that Yuba uses for his Glass Coffin challenge. A middling, magical gimmick, but now, as I watch Tedros fight, it comes to me like water in a desert. The spell pulses at my fingertips, demanding I intervene.

  I know the Storian’s rules. This is beyond a godmother’s work. This is changing the course of a fairy tale.

  But it must be done.

  I see everything that is about to happen, as if my mind’s eye is my real crystal ball. Yet there is no fear of what is to come. Only certainty that I’m on this field for a reason. That I came to Camelot to be here now. To do what I’m about to do.

  Down the hill, Agatha and Tedros crawl for Excalibur, orphaned in the dirt, their friends and the pirates locked in muddy free-for-all around them. Sophie is racing alongside Tedros to get to the sword too, but he sideswipes her, knocking her into Agatha, taking both girls down and slowing his own progress. He realizes his mistake. Rhian lunges from the other side of the sword, his hand clasping the hilt—

  I raise my shaking finger and with all the will I have left, I shoot a blast of white light into the sky, which rains down as sparkling dust, touching every friend and enemy, every pirate and prince and queen and witch, every single body on the battlefield, including mine.

  The war stops.

  No one moves.

  Because I’ve turned us all into Tedros.

  Fifty Tedroses, with the same bloodied mouth and black eye, the same shredded shirt, the same stunned expression.

  No one can tell who’s who.

  But I can.

  I know people’s hearts.

  And I also know that this spell will sustain for only a minute before we revert into our bodies.

  Some of the Tedroses stir with recognition.

  They remember this spell.

  They remember how long it lasts.

  Which is why they start to run.

  Hort, Hester, Nicola, Beatrix, Kiko . . . My former students too: Guinevere, Robin, the Sheriff . . . All my Tedroses sprint for the drawbridge, baffling the pirates and leaders, who don’t know whether to chase these Tedroses or escape with them. More of my Tedroses join the flight—Aja, Anadil, Dot, Valentina, Ravan, Mona—dashing for Camelot’s gates and the freedom of the Woods.

  Sophie is the last to run, dragged off by Robin, who she must recognize from his cap, because she doesn’t fight. She peeks back anxiously as if panicked by the thought of being free . . . of saving herself while leaving so many Tedroses behind. . . .

  Only two of my Tedroses don’t flee, looking just as dazed as the enemy Tedroses around them. The two Tedroses I knew wouldn’t run, not without finding each other first.

  I’m already on my feet, stumbling downhill, my broken body masked by Tedros’ form.

  Thirty seconds left.

  I push myself to run faster, even as I feel mys
elf fading. I rush into the crowd of bewildered Tedroses and grab Agatha by her tattered shirt, the bag with my crystal still on her arm—

  “It’s me,” I whisper, hearing my voice as Tedros’, deep and assured.

  Agatha’s princely face softens. “Tedros?” she mouths.

  I clasp her arm tightly. “Spell breaks in twenty seconds. Get Dovey. Take her into the Woods. She’ll lead us to the Caves of Contempo. That’s where Merlin is.”

  I can see the other Tedroses zeroing in on us. We’re the only ones talking.

  “What about you?” Agatha presses.

  “If we run together, Rhian and his men will know it’s us. I’ll meet you at the old League hideout in one hour. Then we’ll go to the caves.”

  “I can’t leave you—”

  “You will if you want me to stay alive,” I say, my glare so sure it quiets her. “One hour. Go. Now.”

  “Which one is Dovey?” Agatha breathes.

  I point to the real Tedros.

  “That one,” I say, watching him claw out from under a pile of clones, scanning the field for his princess. “Get Dovey to the Woods. We need to rescue Merlin.” I reach for her bag, determined to get my crystal away from her. “I’ll take this.”

  “No,” Agatha retorts, wrenching it back with more strength than I can challenge. Her steeliness burns through her prince’s blue eyes. “One hour or I’m coming back for you.”

  And then she’s running, diving for Tedros and seizing him by the wrist and dragging him towards the Woods, thinking it’s me. Tedros doesn’t resist, either because he knows it’s Agatha or because it happens too fast for him or anyone else to understand—

  But Rhian sees them.

  His Tedros knows exactly what’s happening.

  He won’t let them get away.

  His eyes fly to his sword on the ground.

  He bolts for Excalibur—

  I’m there first.

  I hold up King Arthur’s sword to the boy who claims to be his son, the boy who thinks he’s king, the boy who pulled this sword out of the stone and who I could kill by its tip.

  But I’ve only killed for one person in my life.

  A friend I still haven’t learned to live without.

  Rhian doesn’t deserve such a fate.

  I have other ways.

  “This is Tedros!” I declare to Rhian’s men around me, pointing Excalibur at the king. “This is the impostor! This is him!”

  An army of Tedroses converge on the king.

  Rhian backs up. “No . . . wait . . . he’s Tedros. He’s him!” Then he gapes at me, his self-assurance cracking beneath Tedros’ facade. “But if you’re Tedros . . .” He looks back at Agatha and the prince, hurtling for the Woods. “Then who are—”

  “Get him!” I cry.

  “No!” Rhian screams.

  But it’s too late. The hyenas taste blood. His men besiege him.

  I sink to my knees, Excalibur spilling out of my hands into the grass, my body drained of life despite its veneer of youth. Inside, my lungs wither. My heart falters. My eyes cloud as if I’m already far away.

  As Rhian is crushed beneath his own mob, I look back at my two Tedroses, helping each other over the gatehouse wall that separates the castle from the Woods.

  Suddenly they freeze, as if something in their touch has given it away. Agatha stares at the real Tedros in horror before she spins to me, the Tedros who tricked her, left behind on the battlefield—

  The ground shudders, followed by the echo of hooves.

  A dark horse streaks across the hill like a specter.

  Its rider is blacked out by the sun as he crushes through the Tedroses assailing the king, shattering their bones and spraying them aside, before he swings off his saddle and sweeps the broken Tedros into his hands.

  Crouched over the king, the shadow touches Rhian, as if he knows who he is beneath Tedros’ face. His fingers run along Rhian’s bruised, bloodied chest, feeling it rise and fall, alive with breath.

  Gently, he lays the king down.

  Then his cool blue eyes find me like sapphires in a cave.

  He moves quickly, a black fog, like Death itself.

  As he stands over me, his face comes into focus.

  Japeth bares his teeth, his cheeks flecked with Rhian’s blood, his fists gnarled with murder.

  He pulls Excalibur out of the grass, my princely face reflected in its steel.

  Behind him, I see my two Tedroses sprinting to save me—

  I give them a smile.

  A smile that tells them I’m at peace.

  This is what I’ve chosen.

  This is what I want.

  They run faster, harder towards me. But it’s too late.

  “Little boy who thinks he’s a man. Little boy who thinks he’s a king,” Japeth seethes at me. “You tried to kill the one I love and now look at you. On your knees, bowing down to my brother. Bowing down to the real king.”

  I turn my smile on Japeth.

  “No Snake will ever be king,” I vow.

  He puts his face to mine. “Long live Tedros.”

  With a roar, the Snake swings the sword for my neck.

  I look boldly into his eyes, reverting to my true form.

  His eyes flare in shock as the blade hits—

  I shatter to a million crystals, spraying into the air, each filling up with a youth I’ve never known before they disperse, like seeds that will grow in a new time.

  What’s left of me rises like a mist, filling in stronger, deeper than ever before, higher, higher, the colors growing more vibrant around me like an aurora, until I’m awash in a swirl of celestial glow. . . .

  And then, as I look up, I see someone waiting.

  Someone who’s waited patiently for me all this time.

  Just a little bit higher.

  There is no fear of flying. No temptation to turn back.

  I lift into the light, my soul laid bare, as Leonora Lesso bends down and wraps me in her arms like the wings of a swan.

  17

  AGATHA

  The Only Safe Place in the Woods

  Two Tedroses jumped over the gatehouse wall, throttling for the Woods beyond the castle.

  “Hurry!” the real Tedros panted, dragging his clone past the gatehouse, emptied of guards, who were still on the battlefield.

  Tears streamed down Agatha’s cheeks as she hugged the Dean’s bag to her muscled flank, her thick thighs and broad shoulders hampering her run. Blood and welts streaked their bare chests, though her prince looked far worse. A strange déjà vu seeped into Agatha’s grief, as if she’d lived this scene before—

  All at once, the spell broke and she melted back into her own body, her tattered dress reappearing with a borrowed swan crest, her shoulders smaller, her legs more nimble.

  But the crush of emotions was still the same.

  “Dovey . . . ,” she choked. “Tedros . . . she’s . . . she’s . . .”

  “I know,” he said, his voice rigid. He pulled her into the Woods, past the first line of trees, raining waves of red and yellow leaves. She could hear his heavy grunts, every part of his body wrecked. The only solace was that they’d left Rhian in far worse shape. Brambles hooked onto her dress and Tedros’ breeches, their shoes slipping on heaps of dead autumn fronds.

  Alarm bells pealed from Camelot’s belfry, followed by a stampede of hooves.

  “Run faster!” Tedros barked, his cheeks blotched red.

  Agatha knew his anger wasn’t for her. His anger was pain. His anger was guilt. The Snake had killed his best friend, his knight, and now his Dean, and Tedros had been powerless to stop him. He’d tried to save Dovey. Agatha had too. But Dovey hadn’t intended to be saved.

  Even so, they hadn’t gotten away scot-free.

  Japeth had seen the two Tedroses lunge for the Dean as she fell.

  He’d known it was Agatha and her prince from the way they’d tried to save her . . . from the horror on their faces. . . .

  Now the
Snake and his men were coming for them.

  “We can’t outrun horses,” Agatha fought, resisting Tedros’ pull. “We need to hide!”

  Hooves echoed over the drawbridge. They’d be here any second—

  Agatha saw a steep downslope to the east, blanketed in fallen leaves. She wrenched Tedros towards it, who gleaned her plan, dashing for the hill and yanking Agatha behind him. Light faded around them, the treetops blocking out the sun.

  Chasing her prince in the dark, Agatha felt despair overwhelm her.

  Professor Dovey was dead.

  Her fairy godmother.

  The Dean who’d known Agatha was Good before she herself ever did. The voice that had lifted her from the darkness when she had no hope.

  Dovey had given her life to let them survive. To let them fix this story and find its real end.

  Just like Agatha’s mother had, once upon a time.

  All those she’d looked to as family: Callis, Professor Sader, Professor Dovey . . . One by one, they’d been felled by her story.

  But not without purpose.

  The thought hit Agatha like a wind to a sail, propelling her forward, even as the tears fell.

  Dovey had sacrificed herself to save her students.

  To save Camelot’s true king.

  To save the Woods.

  She’d known her body was weak, her time coming to an end. She’d known that Agatha would rise in her place. That her ward would never rest until the real Lion was returned to the throne.

  Agatha’s tears burned to fire.

  Professor Dovey had known her too well.

  Horses crashed into the Woods, their legs trampling leaves with staccato crackles. Agatha glanced back at a cavalry of men wielding torches and swords—

  “There they are!” the King of Foxwood cried.

  Horses veered in Agatha’s direction, their riders’ blades shining.

  “Come on!” she gritted, surging ahead of Tedros and dragging him the way he’d dragged her, the hill ten yards ahead. Startled by her strength, Tedros tripped, losing his balance as the riders closed in, swords raised—