An Empire of Stones

by Bella Forrest

  “Hazel! Are you all right?” Tejus groaned, staggering up by holding onto the wall. Dimly I nodded, and took his hand as he reached out to pick me up from the floor.

  “We need to go after him,” I gasped, trying to keep my eyes focused on something, but the walls and the castle kept spinning around me.

  “One moment,” he rasped. He clasped me to him, and I leant my head against his chest. I didn’t know if it was providing comfort or keeping himself balanced, but I inhaled the scent of him and found a small semblance of comfort in his pounding heart.

  “Let’s go,” he murmured, releasing me.

  We set off in the direction that Benedict had headed, no doubt straight for the passage.

  “We need to run if we’re going to catch him,” Tejus breathed. “Can you?”

  I nodded, picking up the pace as we hurtled along the corridors. My body was screaming in agony, every inch of it hurting. But I knew if I stopped for even a second, I would give up, and above all I needed to stop my brother before he re-entered the passage.

  When we reached the hallway, I realized we were too late.

  The red and black robes of the sentries lay in a crumpled pile.

  No…oh, God—please no!

  I came to a halt at the passageway. It was empty. The door swung gently on its hinges. One of the sentries moaned, their eyes closed, oblivious to the world.

  I had failed my brother again.

  Tejus

  Hazel had cried softly all night.

  I hadn’t slept, not knowing what to do other than pace up and down the living room, feeling disgusted with myself for how helpless I seemed to be against the power of the entity.

  I didn’t trust myself to try to comfort Hazel. Not in the reckless and furious mood I was in. My lack of power left me desperate to take hers, to completely and utterly consume her, burying all that I felt in her willing, loving touch. I could not allow myself to surrender that way.

  The words of the entity did not leave my mind. I turned them over and over again in my head, trying to make sense of them. What had it meant when it spoke of being my creator? Was it something I was to understand literally, or was it just the egomaniacal talk of an omnipotent, powerful force? It too had called me a false king, the same words used by my mother in the desert. Why? My power had been won fairly—I had taken part in the trials, proven my worth.

  Except Hazel had the stone all along…

  Was that the reason I was declared false? Did her borrowed power mean that my crown was undeserved? I could hardly bear to contemplate it. If that was the dark, twisted truth, and I was in fact a false king, then would I not also be a false emperor if I succeeded in the trials? And then more importantly, would a false emperor be able to read from the damned book, to hold power over the entity and the stones? If not, then I was dooming Nevertide to a fate that centuries of rulers had fought to prevent.

  “Your highness, the trials are to begin soon.” Lithan appeared at the doorway to my chambers.

  “Prepare the birds,” I replied. “The guards and ministers—have they woken yet?”

  “Some have regained consciousness; the others look to follow shortly.”

  “And the humans?” I asked.

  “Safe—the entity didn’t go near them.”

  I dismissed him with a nod, walking to my room to change. I would let Hazel sleep until I returned. She needed it, and I didn’t know what we would next need to face to return her brother. If that was even possible.

  The birds were waiting in the courtyard. I wanted to be early, to see if I could get a chance to be alone with Queen Trina Seraq. Benedict’s mention of her name had surprised me. I had known for a long time that Queen Trina refused to play by the rules—that she had scant regard for her people, or anyone really who wasn’t her. I knew of the nymphs, her indulgence in a variety of practices long forbidden in our land…but I had not imagined that she would go so far as to embroil herself in this. The fool. Did she even know what she was dealing with?

  As I kicked my vulture up into the air and we soared up and away from the castle, I recalled Hazel’s insistence that the Acolytes were active once again. I had started to believe that she was right, and I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps they were Trina’s current pet project. If I was right, then it did not bode well for any of us.

  We set down a few yards from the Pavilion. Dawn had broken over the mountains in the distance, casting a pink, reddish glow across the mists of the valleys and the dew-soaked grass. It was peaceful here, miles from my castle, as if the world had paused for a few moments before the day’s pace began.

  I left Lithan and Qentos to the birds, and made my way toward the pavilion. I paused as I approached, studying the foremost arch, the one I usually stood under to await the instructions of the Impartial Ministers. There was something tethered to the column. My heart started to race uncomfortably and my mouth dried.

  I continued to walk forward, feeling like my legs were moving of their own accord, because there was something unsettlingly familiar about the shape tied to the pavilion—something that my brain was slow to recognize, but that my body had instinctively reacted to. I did not want to come closer. I did not want to see.

  My stomach heaved.

  I stood before a red cloak, wrapped in swathes around its owner who was tied with coarse rope to the Hellswan arch. Dumb in death, Commander Varga stared down at me. His throat had been slit.

  I removed my sword from its sheath, cutting loose the rope that bound him. I caught his body before it slumped to the floor, and then held him in my arms for a few moments before laying him gently on the earth. His body was cold and stiff. All the life had seeped out of it, and I stared, uncomprehending, at the face that would no longer break into infuriatingly loud barks of laughter.

  No.

  This could not be the end for him.

  I stepped back, no longer wanting to look at the form of the man who had once been my only friend. The only man on this earth I had ever truly trusted.

  Where his robe had fallen onto the grass, I saw the lines of a mark, a thin trickle of blood. I had failed to notice it earlier, but as I stood back, I could see that blood had been dribbled in a deliberate and crude marking of a rune. One I had seen before. It was the same one Hazel had shown me on a scrap of parchment.

  I could hear the panting breaths of Lithan and Qentos behind me. One of them inhaled, about to speak.

  “Don’t,” I commanded.

  I did not want to hear what empty platitudes they wished to say. I became vaguely aware of the Impartial Ministers and the other royal members appearing at the Pavilion. As soon as they saw what was left of Varga, their mutterings fell away to silence.

  One of them approached me, coming to stand by my side.

  “Leave,” I growled, not caring to see who it was.

  “I cannot,” the voice replied. It was King Memenion. I regarded him wearily, fractionally more willing to listen to what he might have to say than any of the others.

  “You must know that Commander Varga dined and rested at my castle the night before last. Did you see him since?” the king enquired.

  “No, not since the fires.”

  “He left us in the morning. He was to accompany the human girl, Ruby, to Hellswan castle.”

  “Have you seen her since?” I asked.

  “No, I believed them both to be with you.”

  I nodded. Commander Varga had never made it back to the castle. I wondered where that left the human girl. Had she been slaughtered somewhere too?

  “Do you recognize this?” Memenion pointed to the rune.

  “The Acolytes.”

  He looked at me sharply.

  “Then you know what is coming. I have heard whisperings that the cult had reformed, but I refused to believe it. That is not possible now.”

  I thought of the old temple, where Benedict was being kept. I could no longer doubt a connection between the rise of the cult and the growing strength of the en
tity. I had known all along that the Acolytes worshiped some great, unknown power—I had never thought it would be the entity. My father might have set the rise of the entity in motion by removing the first stone, but somehow the Acolytes were assisting its growth to power.

  “We need to halt the trials!” Memenion called out to the ministers. I looked up to see them whispering among themselves, glancing back and forth from me to the body of Varga.

  “Nonsense!” Queen Trina cried. Suddenly, I was roused from my shocked stupor.

  I stalked toward the Pavilion, Memenion hot on my heels. Shoving the ministers aside, I headed straight for the bejeweled queen. I grabbed her by the throat, hoisting her up against one of the columns.

  “Vile witch, was it you?” I bellowed in her face, our lips almost touching as I fought to restrain myself from ripping the skin off her skull.

  “N-n-no Tejus…please!” she stammered, her hands weakly pawing at mine. My fingers tightened, squeezing the muscles of her throat and cutting off the air.

  “If I find the slightest shred of evidence that this was your doing, I shall end your miserable life. It will be slow and it will be painful, and you will scream out to your entity, but it will not save you,” I hissed in her ear.

  “Tejus!” Memenion barked. “You forget yourself.”

  I smiled at the fear in Queen Trina’s eyes, and then released her. She fell forward, gasping for breath.

  “King Tejus!” One of the Impartial Ministers addressed me. “Behave like that again and you will be disqualified from the trials, mark my words.”

  I nodded curtly, and muttered, “My apologies, Minister.”

  He stared at me, open-mouthed, before collecting himself and addressing the rest of the gathered crowd, all of whom were watching me with barely veiled disgust.

  “At King Memenion’s request we will halt the trials for a few hours to bury the dead. As soon as the sun sets, today’s trial will reconvene. We meet at Ghouls’ Ridge.”

  I left the Pavilion. Memenion would know where to come if he wished to mourn. I picked up the body of Varga, carrying him to my vulture. His last rites would be performed in Hellswan. He would be given the dignified ending of a man befitting his station, but Varga’s true epitaph would be the drawn-out death I would deliver to his murderer.

  Once the body was prepared, washed and cleansed by a select group of guards, my friend was wrapped in the flag of Hellswan, the golden vulture binding his body. His face had been completely obscured by the bronze death mask—the only thing that would remain of Commander Varga once his body succumbed to the flames of the pyre.

  It was late afternoon, but the sun still hadn’t ventured out. The pyre stood against a grey sky, and the whole of Hellswan looked dull and bleak. The only color was the bright red of the flag, and now even that was slowly becoming engulfed with the grey plumes of smoke from the fire beneath.

  Guards and ministers populated the courtyard, and all of the castle staff. Varga had been loved by many. I saw Memenion in attendance with his wife, and felt glad that he had come. My friend would have wanted it.

  Hazel stood by my side. She hadn’t left me alone since I’d returned to the castle. I’d told her as plainly as I could what had happened. Expecting her to strategize a way to track down the Acolytes, I had been surprised when she’d said nothing, just embraced me, holding on for as long as I would allow it, her body warming mine in a way I found excruciatingly uncomfortable. Now she stood, her eyes fixed on the pyre, occasionally glancing in my direction.

  Lithan read the last rites, the words I had heard a hundred different variants of. They sounded more pertinent when applied to Commander Varga, probably because he was the only man I had ever known who truly embodied the codes we aspired to.

  “…he was honorable and brave. A soldier of Hellswan, a noble sentry of Nevertide. He served you faithfully, he pledged his life to protect those in his care. Let his spirit pass on to the next life; let him find more peace than he did in this one. He dies in freedom, unchained and unbound. Set free the spirit and the soul.”

  “Set free the spirit and the soul,” repeated the crowd, as one.

  The flames leapt up, running along the top of the pyre till Varga’s body was completely obscured. Hazel’s hand found mine, and she clasped it tightly.

  “I’m so sorry, Tejus,” she whispered.

  I couldn’t speak, and could only return the pressure of her hand with my own.

  Hazel

  I didn’t know what to say to Tejus.

  I had never seen him like this. After the funeral we returned to his quarters, knowing that we needed to discuss the Acolytes in private, away from the crowd. We walked in silence, and once in the room, Tejus stood by the window, looking out across the darkening grey skies. He looked lost.

  “I need to attend the trials; they are still going ahead,” he murmured eventually. “I want you to stay here, in this room, and research the Acolytes. Find out whatever you can. I want to know their rituals, beliefs—anything that links to the entity.”

  “They’re still going ahead?” I asked, astonished.

  He nodded, turning to face me.

  “It’s important that they do. This needs to end.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” he snapped.

  How would Tejus compete in the trials after this? He hadn’t got enough sleep, he was most likely still weakened by the entity’s syphoning, and now the discovery of his dead friend?

  “You’re not a machine, Tejus. Can’t you ask them to wait at least a day?” I asked.

  He smirked, but his eyes remained hollow.

  “Will the entity rest? Will it be mourning too?” he asked. “I cannot rest while it grows in power, Hazel. Think of your brother—”

  “I am thinking of my brother! I need you to win the trials so that we can free my brother and get him home!”

  “I will win the trial,” he replied coldly.

  I slumped back on the sofa. Clearly there would be no reasoning with him. There would be no comforting him. I felt completely helpless in the face of Tejus’s need to keep me at arm’s length. After taking a few steps forward over the past few days, I felt like we were back to square one—Tejus shutting me out, while I was left desperate to get closer.

  Perhaps I just needed to give him some space. Some time to mourn his friend in whichever way he chose to do so.

  “Okay, I’ll get the books from the library. There’s a couple of volumes I saw last time that will be a good starting point. Are you coming?” I asked, rising from my chair.

  He nodded. We walked down to the library, passing a few ministers and guards who looked as if they were wandering aimlessly around the castle. Tejus noticed too, scowling at their retreating backs.

  When we passed a third guard, he stopped.

  “Tell the lieutenant to meet me in the library, now,” Tejus instructed. The guard bowed low and hastened off. Tejus and I carried on, entering the high-ceilinged room that smelt of musty parchment and candle wax.

  I started to hunt down the books that I could recall—with difficulty. Every single volume looked pretty much the same to me. I was in the stacks furthest from the door when I heard a knock. Tejus commanded them to enter, and I peered around the shelf to see who it was.

  A huge, burly sentry stepped forward, wearing the red cloak of the guards.

  “Your highness.” He bowed in greeting.

  “Lieutenant. Hazel will be remaining in my quarters this evening. She will be alone. I want six guards outside the entrances at all times, is that understood? There will be a barrier built and maintained outside of the room—the guards will be responsible for its upkeep. Under no circumstances are they to leave their post. I want additional guards positioned outside of the passageway, and outside the human quarters. Don’t spare any of the men. All are to be in the castle tonight.”

  “Understood, your highness,” replied the guard.

  He left the room, and I came out of the st
acks, buried under a pile of books. Tejus strode forward, relieving me of them.

  “Is this all?” he asked.

  “For now,” I nodded.

  We made our way back to the living quarters, and Tejus placed the books on the table.

  “I’m due to leave now,” he said, looking at the sky.

  The sun was almost set. I hated the thought of Tejus left at the mercy of the morbid games of the Impartial Ministers.

  “Do you know when you will return?” I asked quietly.

  He smiled at me, and I got the impression that it was meant to offer reassurance. It did not.

  “When I have won.”

  I sighed.

  “We will go again tomorrow to the graveyard,” Tejus continued. “You can speak to your brother again. But promise me one thing?”

  “What?”

  “Do not, for any reason, leave this room. Under any circumstances.”

  “But I thought you were going to have a barrier up anyway?” I asked, puzzled.

  “That’s not the point. Promise me anyway,” he urged. “Please.”

  My eyebrows rose involuntarily in surprise. Tejus rarely bothered with manners when he believed that I was in danger…which seemed to be pretty much a constant state of affairs while I was in Nevertide.

  “Okay, I promise I’ll stay inside.”

  He nodded, seeming relieved.

  “Will you see if Ash is there? Can you ask how Ruby is?” I continued. “I haven’t heard from her at all—I thought she might send a message or something…” I trailed off, shrugging. I wished she’d get in contact just so I would know that she was all right.

  Tejus’s face suddenly looked as if it was set in stone.

  “What?” I asked, alarmed.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “It’s nothing. I need to go, Hazel. Is there anything else that you need?”

  I shook my head, wondering why he was behaving so strangely all of a sudden.

  Before I could say another word, he left the room, shutting and locking the door firmly behind him.