by Joshua Khan
“But, sweetness, you need to die,” Mary said, smiling. “I did warn you it would come to this.”
Lily fought against her. “Let go! Please, you have to!”
They were getting closer. She could hear their running feet.
Lily wove the shadows out of the dark corners. They fell around Mary, and the old woman cried out as they tore her away. “Lily! I love you, Lily!”
Lily sobbed as Mary disappeared. She hadn’t wanted to do that, not to her….
But she didn’t have time to grieve; she needed to get away. She fumbled for the Skeleton Key and tapped it against the massive doors of the Great Hall. The demons and devils carved into the doors seemed to glare down at her, as if she didn’t belong. But this was her home. She’d been born here. She had as much right to Castle Gloom as anyone. Why didn’t they understand that?
The door resisted her, a final barrier to what was rightly hers.
“Open!” Lily screamed, beating her fists against the leering demons.
Every muscle straining, she managed to push the doors apart enough to slip through, but she didn’t have the strength to close them behind her.
An empty throne awaited.
Next to it lay a crown, discarded on the floor.
Her crown.
It was a simple thing, made from bones, twigs, water, lightning, fire, and sunlight. She stumbled across the hall and gathered it in her hands, clutching it against her as she sank into the throne. She was too tired to go any farther.
And they entered.
Six of them. People she knew; people she loved.
Dante came first, sword in hand. “You shouldn’t have run, Sister. Did you think you could escape all of us?” He stared at the crown, and greed flared in his gray eyes. He tightened his grasp on the sword. “Give that to me.”
Lily held the crown closer. “It was given to me, Dante. Father picked me.”
Then came Gabriel, in a shining white tunic studded with pearls. “He is an old fool, giving the crown to a girl.”
“Girls have no right to rule. They are weak creatures of emotion,” spoke the next, the red-robed K’leef. Flames licked across his skin.
“Help me, K’leef, I thought you were my friend,” said Lily.
How could she fight them? She cared for them all. Yet they were acting like strangers. Dante, her brother, was threatening her with a sword.
“Hold her,” said Ying, the Eagle Knight, dressed in a cloak of blue feathers.
“No!” Lily leaped up, but someone grabbed her wrists from behind. She twisted around and saw—
“Tyburn!” she cried. “Why?”
The grim executioner wrestled her back onto the throne. “It is my duty to protect the kingdom, m’lady.”
“But I’m trying to make things better.”
It was no use. Tyburn held her on one side, and a young man in shimmering scale armor held her on the other, trapping her arms, forcing her into the seat. She snarled at Tyburn. “So, are you going to kill me?”
“No. There is a new executioner.”
Dante turned to the sixth boy. “Do your duty.”
Thorn stepped through the doorway, wearing an outfit of green, his bow ever ready. He drew out an arrow.
“No, Thorn, you can’t!” Lily begged, her heart breaking.
Thorn licked the feathers, taking all the time in the world, then nocked the arrow and pulled the bowstring back using his unique thumb draw. Their eyes met, and he smiled. “It’s for the best, Lily.”
He shot.
Lily gasped. She woke, heart pounding and hand clenched against her chest, the place where Thorn’s arrow had struck.
Struck and killed her.
They betrayed me. All of them.
The very people she loved most in the world had conspired to kill her. And why? Because she was a girl. For no better reason than that. She had done no evil, harmed no one, yet she’d been sentenced to death for her gender.
Because you are a witch.
Lily got up, angry. It had been two days since they’d left the nomads, and her dreams were getting more vivid and more disturbing. The first night she’d dreamt of being chased, the faces of her pursuers obscure, the halls formless and insubstantial. Tonight, though…
Was it the Shardlands? Was the water she drank making her imagine things? No one could measure the amount of magic soaked in the soil, or radiating from the rocks.
Trails of multicolored lights wove across the sky to the south. She’d never seen anything like it. Wild magic so thick that it polluted the very air. How was it possible that a war from thousands of years ago could still leave its trace on the fabric of the world?
Surely, with all this magic around her, she could make something happen? But even as she began to stretch out her hand, Lily stopped herself. The disappointment of failing again would be too painful.
She pulled her woolen caftan closer around her shoulders. Kismet had given her a change of clothes, transforming Lily from a princess to a nomad. She liked the look. The boots were as well made as any from back home, and the tassels of her skirts swished as she walked. They’d strung a necklace of rat skulls for her, and wearing it made Lily feel much better. No outfit was complete without a few bones.
It was, of course, all black.
Thorn slept a few feet from her, arms spread out and face up to the stars as if trying to embrace them. K’leef lay a little farther off, snoring under his own blankets, his turban unwrapped and covering his eyes. Smoke rolled out between his lips. His magic was growing more powerful each day.
She thought back to her hideous nightmare. The tale of the high queen had infected her mind. The dream was her version of the tale, casting herself as the victim and those closest to her as her enemies.
These two were her best friends, and both had risked their lives for her. How could she think, even for a second, they’d betray her?
“Bad dream?” Pan sat against a rock, feeding the fire with twigs. His boots were off, but he still wore his armor. His sword lay beside him, blade bare. “Just like when you were little.”
Lily’s heart skipped a beat. The dream had left her feeling raw. If anyone would betray her, it would be Pan. But he was right—it was just like when she was little.
Mother and Father were always too busy to show much concern about her nightmares. And Mary, preoccupied with running the castle, made light of them. Lily was a Shadow—she couldn’t suffer nightmares; she made nightmares. Pan, though, was sympathetic. So when she was scared, Lily went to her brave uncle, who would, dressed in full armor and sword resting beside him, sleep at her door. Only later did Lily realize how uncomfortable sleeping in armor could be, but she never had nightmares when he was protecting her.
That was a long time ago.
Lily sat opposite him and peered in the saucepan over the fire rock. There was enough hot chocolate left for a cup. She poured it.
Pan chuckled to himself. “What was that cuddly toy you were frightened of? Mrs. Fluffy?”
“Fluffykins,” said Lily. “I thought she was trying to eat me. She had big teeth and would never stay in her box.”
“You know that was Dante? He’d come in when you were asleep and put her at the foot of your bed. The boy was mischief. Whatever happened to that toy?”
“I took her for a swimming lesson in the moat,” said Lily. “With a brick.”
He laughed. “Isn’t that what Duchess Hel did to her first husband?”
“First, third, and fourth. You’d think they would’ve learned their lesson sooner,” said Lily. “Or at least drained the moat.”
He gazed into the small fire. “I can’t ask for your forgiveness, Lily.”
“Good. I’ll never give it.”
Some things were unforgiveable.
“Have you spoken to Iblis? About…you know?”
“About how you murdered him, his wife, and his son?” snapped Lily. “Never. But I’ve seen the hideous, malformed specters that lurk in the Twiligh
t for all eternity. Always hungry for something they’ll never have. Crazed with hatred they can’t get rid of. You know exactly what I mean. You summoned them, after all.”
“I remember.”
“You’ll be one of them, sooner or later,” she said. “And I won’t forgive you then, either.”
Lily thought she saw him shiver. As well he might. The Twilight was a bitter limbo with no comfort and no warmth.
“You were a hero once, Uncle. What happened?”
He looked at her and pain radiated from his eyes. “I honestly don’t know.” He cleared his throat gruffly, wanting to move on, like her. “Tomorrow we’ll reach the outskirts of Necropolis. There’s a street of tombs, but it’ll be safe enough if we reach them early. Most have been emptied by tomb robbers over the centuries, and their occupants have been…dealt with. But the city itself, that’s unexplored. We’ll be relying on you from then on.”
“Me?”
“You’re the necromancer, Lily, not I.” He flexed his fingers. “These were made for holding swords, not weaving spells. It’s the city of death, so it’ll need a Shadow to deal with it, a real Shadow.”
“Uncle, I…I don’t know….”
“Is there any cocoa left?” Thorn came over, blanket over his shoulders, and squatted down next to her. He looked in the pot. “Go get us some, Pan. It’s in the pannier, the one with the red tassels.”
Pan got up. “The red tassels?”
“I think.” Thorn’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe one of the others. It may take a while to find.”
Pan, still barefoot, walked off to the horses and the supplies. As soon as he was out of earshot, Thorn turned on her. “What were you thinking?”
“What?”
“Don’t play all innocent with me, Lily. You were going to tell him you’d lost your magic.”
She faltered, caught between denying it and realizing she’d been about to confess the truth to her uncle. “He’ll find out the moment we face our first undead threat. Then what are we going to do? He’s counting on my magic to see us through this.”
Thorn scowled. “So far I’ve managed well enough without using a single spell. And we’ll manage this, too.”
“I can’t do anything without magic, Thorn!” she snapped. “Nothing!”
“Poor you. Stuck with being normal like the rest of us. Boo-hoo. How will you ever survive?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Thorn.”
“Maybe I need more practice? Anyway, we are here and we’ve got a job to do and we’re going to do it. But don’t think for a second that man over there is interested in anything but his own greed. You of all people know that!”
“But…but he’s family, Thorn. You don’t understand what he once was to me.”
“I don’t care about then. He’s a mercenary now. The only reason he hasn’t abandoned us is because he thinks he has a chance at fame and fortune in getting those flaming birds.” Thorn glanced over. Pan was still busy searching the bags. “He’s got no loyalty. The moment things turn tough, he’ll be off, if he doesn’t murder us first. He’s here because he thinks you’ve still got your magic. If you want us to succeed, you’ve got to let him keep on believing that. Understood?”
“You’re getting cunning in your old age, Thorn.” Lily handed him her half-empty mug. “Lying didn’t come so easily to you, once.”
“I’ve learned it by hanging around nobles. My betters.” He finished the hot chocolate. “That was sarcasm, too.”
The four of them crossed the hard red earth with Hades soaring high above. Thorn rode between her and Pan, making sure the communication between her and her uncle was kept to a minimum. K’leef more often than not rode ahead, either to scout out the landscape or merely stay far away from the family feud. Lily sympathized—he’d have to deal with something worse once he returned to Nahas.
The sand had given way to sunbaked stone, and the wind sent scouring clouds of grit against them. Lily kept her eyes on the sky and the crackling storms on the horizon. The clouds rumbled and pulsed with vibrant colors, warning that it was no mere lightning at work, but the wildest of magics.
Time was fluid out here; it could be stretched and compressed. The limits of reality, fragile in the Shardlands already, could be more easily broken the deeper they went.
Mary had told her tales of adventurers who had ventured far into this unnatural wilderness, seemingly only for a week, and returned home to discover that a hundred years had passed and everyone they’d known was gone.
“Hold up.” Thorn reined in his horse. “People ahead.”
Lily shielded her eyes. “They’re not moving.”
“They’re waiting for us?”
Lily spurred her horse forward. It ran lightly over the cracked surface, sure-footed and smooth, as was the way with all the horses of the Sultanate.
Hades flew overhead, circling the strangely quiet crowd that awaited them. It looked like there were hundreds of them. Most were on foot, but some sat on steeds that were just as motionless.
“Hello!” Lily cried from twenty yards away, pulling her horse to a walk. “My name is…”
Now she knew why they waited so patiently. They’d been waiting patiently for a long time and would continue to wait far into the future.
Thorn trotted up beside her. “Statues?”
A whole army of figures, of all types: male, female, adult, child, and elder. Some stood straight and impassive; others were twisted, their faces masks of pain and fear. Each fold, crease, wrinkle, and fingernail was perfect.
“Who made all these?” said Thorn. “And why leave ’em out here?”
Lily dismounted. “No one made them. These must be the Weeping Stones.”
She stopped by a girl who was posed running, looking over her shoulder. She was holding a dog in her arms.
The figures were tall, elegant, and handsome. Their clothes weren’t of today; they wore long flowing robes. Most men had tight beards, and the women were richly jeweled with rings, necklaces, and bracelets.
“They’re people,” said Lily. “Real people.”
“Can’t be. Look at ’em. People don’t look like that. The men are almost seven feet tall!”
“They’re from another age, Thorn.”
Lily examined the girl’s face. Her eyes were huge; the terror was obvious. What had she seen in that last moment before she’d been transformed into stone? How long had she been trapped like this?
Thorn gazed, too, horrified. “I once saw a druid turn a leaf to stone, but that was as much as he could manage, and he needed a jug of cider afterward. But this? Why do this to ’em? What was their crime?”
“Being on the wrong side.”
Lily surveyed the rest. Thousands, all fleeing in one direction. They’d fled with just the clothes on their backs; there’d been no time to bring anything else. One man, strong-limbed and running, carried an old woman piggyback-style. She had her head buried in his long, wavy hair, and her thin fingers were digging into his shoulders. The man’s face was a mask of grim determination.
“I’m glad that magic doesn’t exist anymore,” said Thorn. “I never realized how evil it was.”
“It was war. People died. It happens now, too.”
“Not like this. One spell—that’s all it took.” Thorn paused. “Are they dead? Or are they still in there somewhere?”
“The Six Princes were great men,” said Lily. “They had the power to change the world.”
“And look what they did to it.”
“They were running away…” said Lily, more to herself than anyone. She peered into the distance, in the direction from which the statues were fleeing.
The direction they were headed.
K’leef joined them. “Do you want to turn back? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
They’d come too far by now, but there might be worse things ahead. Could she face them? What horrors of the past loomed in Necropolis?
Both boys waited for her answer.
Thorn gestured behind them. “He could be dead, killed at the Haunts. Who knows?”
“But then there’s Ameera,” Lily added. “She’s killed Sa’if already. If you return home without a phoenix, she might use that against you, as proof that you don’t have what it takes to be sultan.”
Thorn stepped warily around one of the statues, as if he feared it might come back to life. “But if we keep going, we could end up like this bunch.”
K’leef faced his friend. “You knew the risks, Thorn.”
“There’s a big difference between seeing a wolf’s paw print and its teeth.”
“So do you want to go back?” Lily asked.
“Me?” Thorn sighed and turned to face the way they’d come. “Y’know, hardly anyone leaves my village. You go more than ten miles from Stour and you’re some great explorer. Now that I’ve left, I’ve got a hunger for seeing what’s over the next horizon. I ain’t stopping.”
Lily took off her most precious ring, one studded with black diamonds, and placed it carefully on the girl’s little finger. “I’m sorry. I hope you’ve reached a restful place.”
“Why bother, Lily?” K’leef asked. “The sands will bury them soon enough.”
Lily said nothing in reply, just remounted her horse.
They wove their way through the petrified crowd. K’leef was right; the desert was already claiming them. Some were already knee-deep in sand and would be submerged soon. Eventually it would be as though these people had never existed.
Lily was determined not to allow that. She looked at the face of each one she passed, fixing it in her memory. The Gehennish honored the dead by remembering them. She would do the same for this strange, abandoned throng. There was not enough jewelry on her to gift them all, but she gave them her shining tears.
THIRTY-FIVE
Thorn trotted his horse up to K’leef, keeping a wary eye on the two Shadows. “Lily’s upset.”
“Understandable, given the situation.”
“Shouldn’t we do something?”
K’leef frowned. “Like what?”
Thorn tried to sound oh-so-casual. “We could…misplace Pan?”