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

by Soman Chainani

  Agatha’s heart plunged.

  “He’s d-d-dead,” Tedros stammered. “Rhian . . . how can he be dead . . .”

  “And looks like he’s been dead awhile. At least a day,” said Agatha, studying the corpse. She drew back, her body stiff. “Tedros . . . on his neck . . . those are scim wounds.” She looked at her prince. “Japeth killed him. His brother killed him.”

  “None of this makes sense. Sophie’s marrying Rhian . . . that’s what Lionsmane says. . . .” Tedros insisted, checking the announcement in the sky, still beaming bright. “If he’s been dead for a day, that means the message went up around the same time. Which means Sophie’s marrying—”

  “Japeth,” said Agatha. “She’s marrying Japeth. Sophie’s marrying the Snake. That’s the only reason they would be burying Rhian in this grave, secretly, in the middle of the night. Japeth’s going to pretend to be his brother. He’s going to wear his crown.”

  “The Snake?” Tedros said, a choked whisper. “The Snake’s . . . king?”

  His throat bobbed, his eyes fixed on the king’s lifeless face. Rhian had been his mortal nemesis. Tedros had wished nothing more than to see him dead. But that’s the problem with wishes: they need to be specific. Now Tedros was faced with an enemy far more deadly and deranged. A Snake masquerading as a Lion. A Snake on his father’s throne.

  Agatha clasped his arm. “Whatever Sophie went back to Camelot to do . . . it’s gone wrong. She’s in trouble, Tedros.”

  “And Kei wanted us to know,” Tedros realized. “That’s why he didn’t attack us. He was Rhian’s best friend. Kei was telling us to check the grave. He wanted us to know the Snake is king.”

  A gust blew the rose off Rhian’s grave. Agatha carefully put it back where Kei had left it. As the petals rippled in the wind, Agatha remembered this—laying a rose on the Snake’s grave—as if it had already happened in the past. . . .

  A crystal.

  She’d seen it in a crystal.

  At the time, she’d thought it a lie. But like all the other crystals she’d taken for lies, this one had come true too. Nothing in her fairy tale was as it appeared to be: good or evil, truth or lies, past or present. She always had the story wrong. Even the stars seemed to be mocking her, free-falling in her direction, as if her world was turning upside down.

  Hort, Guinevere, and Nicola caught up and jolted at the sight of Rhian in the Snake’s grave.

  “Um, this can’t be good,” said Hort.

  “We need to get to Avalon,” Tedros commanded, starting to move. “Before the wedding. Everything depends on it.”

  “We won’t get there in time,” said his mother, standing still. “Took us more than a day to get here from Avalon. By camel.”

  “She’s right,” said Nicola. “On foot, we don’t stand a chance. Sophie and Japeth are getting married at sunset. There’s no way—”

  Agatha wasn’t listening.

  Her eyes were on the falling stars, plummeting even quicker now, hundreds of them, thousands, aiming straight at her and her friends.

  “That’s the thing about Good . . . ,” Agatha marveled. “It always finds a way.”

  Tedros and the others looked up at the army of fairies ripping through the night sky, swooping towards them. And leading the light brigade: a pear-shaped fairy with poofy gray hair, a green dress far too small, and ragged gold wings.

  Flashing a mischievous smile, Tinkerbell flung a cloud of sooty dust—

  Before Agatha could brace herself, she and her friends were off their feet and flying high into the dark, as fairies clustered around each one, hiding them in starry cocoons. Then they whisked them back towards Avalon, five comets against the night.

  27

  TEDROS

  The Unburied King

  In the mists of dawn, the gates of Avalon, two mangled heaps, resembled twin jaws about to swallow them up.

  Tedros heard the others in a pack behind him, the grunts of their frozen breaths, their feet crushing fresh-fallen snow. The fairies from school flocked around Tinkerbell like their queen, the only member of the League of Thirteen they’d managed to find. Peter Pan’s favorite nymph landed on Tedros’ shoulder, awaiting instructions—

  “Keep watch for us outside the gates, Tink,” said the prince.

  Tinkerbell replied with twinkly gibberish. Alongside her fairies, she burrowed for warmth into the bright green apples hanging off vines, the one sign of life in Avalon’s endless winter. Tedros, meanwhile, led his group through the gates, crossing into the Lady of the Lake’s domain. The crash of the Savage Sea against rock echoed like a slow-beating drum. Over his head, Lionsmane’s promise of Sophie’s wedding glinted in the sunrise, a dead man her supposed groom. All this time, he’d been so obsessed with Rhian, thinking him the real threat, instead of paying attention to what was actually happening. Rhian had been a pig. But Japeth was a monster. A boy of no conscience, the murderer of his friends, a black hole of Evil. If Japeth could kill his own brother, his own blood, then with the Storian’s powers, he’d tear the Woods apart without mercy. He’d bring back the worst Evil from the dead and write Good out of existence. He’d watch the world burn with a smile.

  The prince took a deep breath, trying to settle himself. The End wasn’t written yet. They’d gotten here alive. That was the first challenge. Now they had to convince the Lady of the Lake to let them cross her magical waters and dig up King Arthur’s grave. Tedros could feel oily nausea filling up his stomach. When he was a boy, he’d leaned in and kissed his father goodbye before they’d closed his coffin. To open that coffin back up like a graverobber . . . to ransack his father’s body and disturb his peace . . . His hand clamped at his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. And yet . . . he had to. He tried to focus on the next obstacle, on getting to his father’s tomb, step by step—

  A hand stroked beneath his shirtsleeve in just the right way.

  “You’re brave to do this, Tedros,” said Agatha. “Your father would have done the same to protect his people. It’s why you’re his son. The son he raised to be king.”

  Tedros wanted to hold her and never let go. He knew what she’d said was the truth. Agatha never lied. That’s why he loved her. Because she didn’t just want him to be king. She wanted him to be a good king. And he wanted to be a good king for her. One day he hoped to tell her all this, when this moment was just a memory. . . . But for now, he could only nod, unable to speak anything in return. He glanced back at his mother, walking with Hort and Nicola. She, too, looked stricken, but more self-conscious and meek, as if questioning this entire endeavor or whether she should be here at all.

  Still, she followed as Tedros walked the path around Avalon’s castle. The bone-white spires were connected in a circular palace, overlooking a maze of staircases leading down to the lake. Snow fell harder, covering the prince’s bootprints the second they formed. Somewhere here, Chaddick had died, killed by the animal who’d just taken the throne. Now his friend’s body lay in the grove beside his father, a grove Tedros wanted to desecrate. Emotions reared like a tidal wave, too high for the prince to wall in. He couldn’t do this. Not even with Agatha at his side. He needed Merlin. He needed a father.

  “Shouldn’t we have heard from the witches by now?” he rasped to Agatha. “Shouldn’t we know if they’ve found Merlin?”

  His princess heard his desperation, because she clutched his palm gently. “The Caves of Contempo are difficult to get to. That’s why Reaper trusted the witches for the job,” she said, guiding him down the steps towards the lake. “But they will get there. They’re probably closing in as we speak.”

  “Or they’re dead,” murmured Hort.

  “Unlikely,” said Nicola. “If we’re still alive, then Hester’s alive, because she’s smarter and tougher than all of us, including you.”

  Agatha pulled Tedros faster down the steps. “Look, we don’t know where anyone is or if they’re safe: witches, Beatrix, Willam, teachers, first years, even Anadil’s two rats. But it
doesn’t matter unless we stop the Snake from becoming the One True King and killing us all. That’s why we’re here. To find a way to put Tedros back on the throne.”

  “Except there is no way,” said Guinevere’s voice. She stood at the top of the stairs. “Rhian might be dead, but Japeth is as much Arthur’s son as Rhian was. You witnessed the past with your own eyes, Agatha. You saw Evelyn Sader bewitch Arthur into giving her his sons. His heirs. Japeth is king, then. Nothing in the Past can change the Present. Nothing in Arthur’s grave can make Tedros king again.”

  Everyone fell quiet. Agatha included.

  “Then why did Father’s sword give Merlin that message for me?” Tedros appealed to his mother. “Why did Father send me here?”

  “Did he?” said Guinevere. “Or was it the Lady of the Lake who gave Merlin that message? The Lady, whose loyalties we’re not even sure of?”

  Tedros’ breath caught in his chest.

  He looked at Agatha, doubting himself, doubting everything—

  But it was too late.

  Down below, the waters had started to churn.

  THE LADY ROSE like a dragon, her bald head reflecting the fire of the sunrise. Black pits grooved beneath her eyes, her face more shriveled and deathly than Tedros had imagined it. No longer did she seem Good’s great defender, but instead a Witch of the Woods, haunted and bitter and enraged. She locked on Agatha, her low, deep voice hissing across the water.

  “You promised. You promised to leave me in peace.” She flew across the lake, her tattered gray robes like shredded wings, and thrust her face in Agatha’s. “You’re a liar. A liar—”

  “Don’t talk to her that way,” Tedros retorted, shielding his princess. “You’re one to talk about promises. You broke your own vow. To protect Good. To protect Camelot. You’ve put our entire world at risk by kissing a Snake.”

  “He had the heir’s blood. The king’s blood,” the Lady spat at him, her breath salty and old. “And yet you come here, acting like I serve you. Like you’re the king.”

  “We’re not here for you,” said Tedros firmly. “We’ve come to visit my father’s grave. I have that right.”

  The Lady laughed. “You’re not king. You have no rights here. None. This is my domain. I could kill you all if I wish. I still have enough powers left for that.”

  Tedros felt Agatha back up behind him, Dovey’s bag to her chest, as if she took this threat seriously. The prince stood his ground. “Excalibur gave you a message for me. A command from my father. The king you served faithfully his entire life. I’ve come to obey that command. And if you loved my father, you’ll let me into your waters.”

  “You’re a fool,” the nymph lashed. “I loved your father because he was a good king. Better than any other that came before. That’s why I made Excalibur for him. A sword that rejected you. A sword that his heir, the true king, pulled from the stone.”

  “Wrong,” said Tedros. “Rhian pulled the sword from the stone and now he’s dead. His brother, his murderer, sits on the throne. The boy you kissed. Excalibur thought one brother was king; you thought the other brother was king. Both can’t be right. Even a fool would know that.”

  The Lady glared at him, her whole body starting to quake, her eyes steaming furious tears. “Go. Now. Before I fill these waters with your blood.”

  Tedros could see Agatha fiddling with Dovey’s bag. Why wasn’t she saying anything? He turned his ire on the Lady. “You made a mistake. A mistake that will destroy the Storian and end our world unless I save it. Take me to my father’s grave.”

  “You trespass here and accuse me?” the Lady seethed.

  “I order you to let me pass,” the prince charged.

  “This is your last warning!”

  “And this is yours. Let me pass.”

  “I’ll tear you apart!”

  “Let me pass!”

  “You liar! You snake!” the Lady screamed.

  “LET ME PASS!” Tedros bellowed.

  The Lady snatched him into her taloned fists and hammered him down towards the water with such force he’d tear into pieces the instant he hit the surface. Tedros thrashed against her, bracing for his death—

  —just as he saw his princess sprint across the shore, a crystal ball in her arms. With a flying leap, Agatha rammed her head into the Lady of the Lake’s chest. The nymph dropped Tedros into the lake, as the Lady and Agatha plunged underwater, knotted in each other’s limbs.

  Before Tedros could take a breath, the lake around him exploded with blue light.

  Guinevere pulled Hort and Nicola away from the shore; Tedros could hear his mother screaming his name, but he was sucking in a wad of breath and dunking underwater, glimpsing Agatha as she seized the Lady of the Lake’s hand and touched it to the glowing crystal ball, the two of them evaporating inside the portal. Already the bright blue light was fading, the portal starting to close; Tedros flung forward, kicking his legs like a dolphin tail, stabbing out his fingers as the crystal darkened—

  Pain exploded through his chest and he fell backwards, splayed in the blinding light, before he felt cold glass catch him from beneath, puddling with the water off his skin.

  In the wet reflection, he watched his princess kneel down and help him to his feet inside Dovey’s ball. She grimaced, still unsteady herself, neither of them recovered from the crystal’s assault. But Agatha’s eyes weren’t on him. They were on the Lady of the Lake, posed silently on the other side of the ball, her hands caressing the thousands of tiny glass droplets arranged in the phantom’s mask, as if she was instinctively versed in the crystal’s magic.

  Tedros and Agatha moved towards her, but the Lady paid no attention, the old crone hunched over as she studied scenes inside the crystals, brushing past any with the prince and princess and fixing instead on her own. . . . Forging Excalibur from her own silvery blood. Bestowing the sword on Tedros’ father. Talking intimately with Arthur on the shores of her lake. Surging across a battlefield at Arthur’s side like his warrior angel, obliterating the king’s enemies . . . In all of these she was beautiful, powerful, so rich with powers that Tedros could see her eyes sparkle, gazing into these magic mirrors of time. There were no scenes of her present or future. Her soul only knew the past.

  Then the Lady froze.

  It was a crystal near the phantom’s edge.

  She backed away from it, her hands starting to shake.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Tedros realized. “The moment you lost your powers.”

  The Lady of the Lake didn’t move.

  “We need to go inside,” said Agatha.

  The Lady turned, the fever of rage broken, replaced by anguish and grief. “No. Please.”

  “It’s the only way we’ll know the truth,” said Agatha.

  The Lady appealed to Tedros. “Leave it be.”

  Tedros looked back at the haggard old witch who had just tried to kill him, a witch who had let his knight die and protected a Snake. A witch whose sword had rejected him. He wanted to feel anger. He wanted to feel hate. But deep in her eyes, all he could see was someone as flawed as he. Both their stories had taken detours into darkness. Both their futures were unclear. He reached out and clasped her decrepit palm.

  “He is my father’s son. The boy you kissed,” Tedros spoke. “But I am Arthur’s son too. So if you see my father in me, even a trace of that king you served so loyally, then help us. We need you, even without your powers. Good needs you.”

  The Lady searched Tedros’ face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her lips quivering, but no sound came out.

  Slowly she reached up and pulled down the crystal.

  She held it out to Agatha, the Lady’s breaths shallow, her fingers tremoring.

  Without a word, Agatha took the glass droplet into one hand, then Tedros’ palm into the other.

  Raising the crystal, Agatha stared calm and still into its center.

  Light broke through like a sword.

  HARD, WET SNOW pelted Tedros’ cheek.

/>   He glanced down and saw his boots floating on top of clear water, Agatha with him at the edge of the lake, his princess still holding his hand. Behind them, the portal’s gash of blue light glowed strong. They were inside the Lady’s crystal, two ghosts revisiting the past.

  Sounds came from the shore: metal into skin . . . a wheeze of breath . . . a sword hitting snow . . .

  Slowly Tedros and Agatha looked up.

  The Snake rose from Chaddick’s dead body, his scaly black suit and green mask flecked with blood. He walked towards the Lady of the Lake, who floated over her shores, her silver hair thick and flowing, her dark eyes pinned on Chaddick’s killer.

  “A king stands before me,” said the Lady. “I smell it. The blood of Arthur’s eldest son.”

  “A son still alive thanks to your protection,” said the Snake. “The usurper’s knight is dead.”

  “A usurper your father believed would be king,” the Lady remarked. “Arthur never spoke of you to me. And yet, Excalibur remains trapped in stone. A coronation test unfulfilled. Waiting for you, it seems. Arthur had his secrets. . . .”

  The Snake moved closer, stepping into the Lady’s waters.

  “As do you,” he said. “The kind of secrets only a king could know.”

  “Oh? Then why wear a mask, King of Secrets?” the Lady asked him. “I smell the blood of a Good soul, the blood of a Lion. Why wear the guise of a Snake and attack your fellow kingdoms? Kingdoms you are meant to rule?”

  “For the same reason you wish to be a queen instead of the Lady,” the Snake replied. “For love.”

  “You know nothing of my wishes,” the Lady scoffed.

  The Snake removed his mask, revealing Japeth’s ice-blue eyes and smooth, sculpted face. The Lady gazed at him, transfixed.

  Watching from the shore, Tedros’ blood boiled, his body ready to attack, unable to discern Present from Past.

  “Come with me,” Japeth said to the Lady. “Come to Camelot. Leave this lonely cave behind.”