I tried to hold it together, but the tablet crumbled in my grip.
“What happened?” I said. “What did I do?”
“Do not fret. The tablet was never there.”
“Never there? I needed that damn thing to help my people, to help my daughter.”
“It has been gone for some time.” The debris on my hands vanished. “They all have.”
I turned to her. “I’ve seen scrolls protected to last hundreds of years. How is it something this important was left to go to dust?”
“All things become dust eventually.”
Anger swept in. “If what I came here for doesn’t exist, why show it to me?”
Her white eyes fixed purposefully on mine. For a breath or two her entire body blinked in and out, shifting between the old man, a young girl, a plump woman. When the body she’d chosen for me returned, Fate was smiling again. I was starting to find the expression less and less attractive.
“The information you seek,” she said, “the knowledge the stones contained, still exists. Some of it is inside you.”
“I’m fairly sure if it were, I wouldn’t be here.”
A sudden eerie chill took her voice. “Do you think you came to me of your own choosing? This event was decided long ago, from your first touch of the Crown of Stones. All that transpired after has led you here, to this moment…to me. I led you here. I became to you, L’tarian, what your ancestors believed me to be for all. I am your Fate.”
My chuckle was pure anxiety. “Great. A whole race to play with and Fate picks me.”
“You think I lie?”
“Not at all. You’re an ancient all-knowing and powerful being. You cling to your divinity when it suits you and rebuff it when it doesn’t. Sounds like a god to me.” Irritated, I shook my head. “What am I doing here? How am I here?”
“Crafting the Crown of Stones was the most powerful working the Shinree ever performed. When the spell’s energy filled this chamber, it pulled me in. Our auras mingled. I became a part of its creation. Thereby, on the battlefield, when you first channeled the crown, I became a part of you.”
“It was never the crown that marked me. It was you.”
“Your hair,” she said, ruffling it, “and the scars left on your forehead that day, were a test; a small sharing of information, to see if your body was capable of holding and sustaining the rest. More has come into you with each new scar.”
“More what?” I said with equal anger and dread. “What exactly have you put inside me?”
Fate took hold of my left hand. Her fingers ran over the scars. At her touch, the lines and swirls decorating my arm blurred and shifted like the dice and her body. Only, the scars’ movements were more abstruse and fluid. The designs separated as they shifted, dividing over and over into smaller sinuous pieces. As they danced, my skin steadily lightened. As each layer of flesh became nearly transparent, yet inexplicably visible on its own, the marks settled. Their lines sharpened. They became defined, recognizable.
My mouth went dry at seeing what was on me—what had been on me all along. There were hundreds of them. No, thousands, I thought; all interlocking and overlapping. Their strands were stacked up inside me, etched into the layers of my skin. They were old, ancient. “Runes?” Thinking myself mad, I glanced at her for confirmation.
She nodded and I felt worse.
“I don’t…” I took a breath and tried to stop shaking. “What do they say?”
“The ability to read them lies within you. Simply focus and try.”
I breathed deep. Clearing my panicked mind, I shut out everything in the room. She was the hardest to ignore, but I ripped my attention away from Fate and looked closer at the runes.
And I suddenly knew them; every symbol, every combination. Even those on the bottom of the pile were clear and familiar. Peering into the second layer, I picked a line at random. “These are names, a navigational chart of some kind, and…a list of cargo?” I glanced up. “What is this?”
“A long time ago, before the empire, a small party of Shinree left Mirra’kelan. This is their shipping manifest.” She gave a nod at my arm, wanting me to read on.
“They were explorers. Their heading was northwest, past the known lands.” I moved on, browsing spells, maps, letters, stories, scrolls of learning, journal entries. “There’s so much.” My heart was racing. “How can this be?”
“As you said… Magic makes all things possible.”
Her evasiveness set my temper loose. “I’ve got runes all over my body. I’ve got runes in my body. I can see through my skin and decipher ancient marks I have no business reading. And you give me riddles and caginess?”
Fate offered a nod of apology. “The crown knew you from the start. It knew your blood. The circlet was, after all, created by a Brielle’atroy and bound to a Reth. You, the offspring of both, are two sides of the coin. Erudition and war. Wisdom and strength. Compassion and brutality. You, L’tarian, are the best and the worst. I felt it in you that day. I knew what you were and what you could be. Now, the time has come to realize your potential.”
Warily, I asked, “Realize it how?”
“I have kept the knowledge of this place, of your people’s rise and fall—of all that they are—for so long. But as your race has headed toward extinction these last few hundred years, so have I. What I hold within me, what I am, what I have become, is in danger of being lost.”
“Damn it, what is in danger? What exactly are you?”
“I am the repository of your history.”
“Repository? You mean like…like a library? You’re a goddamn library?”
“I was not intended as such. I was not intended at all. But as the Shinree became devoted to me as their god, my attachment to them grew as well. When I understood the writings of their deeds would not last, I took them in to preserve them, to repay the people for the affection and respect they had given me.”
“How many writings? How many deeds?”
“All of them. Every writing, every rune, every mark, ever made by a Shinree hand, I absorbed. But the wishes of my creation have long since vanished into time. The prayers to B’naach have ceased to be uttered. Slavery has stolen the Shinree faith. There is scant left to sustain my existence.”
“The spell that made you is fading. You’re dying.”
“And when I am gone, so will be the knowledge I have amassed. I cannot allow that which created me, the hopes and dreams of a fledgling race—of an entire empire—to die with me. That is why I called you to me, L’tarian, and why I have been forced to accelerate your arrival.”
“The scars were your link to me. You knew I would pursue their meaning, to try and stop their progress.” The pieces were falling into place. I didn’t like the picture they formed. “You put these things all over me then used them like a tow line to reel me in. I thought I was becoming an eldring. If you’re as all-seeing as you claim, then you know I don’t like being used.”
“Your investigation into the marks and the crown, your search for an answer to the eldring spell, could only lead you to one place: here. The ‘how’ and ‘when’ is all I interfered with.”
“Bullshit. What about my oracle spells, my vision of the future? Did you interfere with those, too? Did you show me those deaths, the attacks, Malaq’s injury? Were they all part of your efforts to lure me?”
“Erudite have a gift with oracle spells. They often glimpse what others do not. Your absorption of the crown has heightened your abilities, allowing you to see not what might occur, but that which already has.”
I was right. It wasn’t a normal vision. “If what I experienced was truly the future, why isn’t it happening exactly the same way?”
“You glimpsed the future of a world without the benefit, or detriment, of your presence. You were told of events. Now, you are living them. You are the variable, the catal
yst for the differences between your vision and the reality that is unfolding. How deeply your presence might affect these events, I cannot say—especially as to your losses. Death plays the game far differently than I.”
The beginnings of a dry chuckle escaped. I cut it off as it hit me: if Fate could exist, even in some diminished form, was Death so far-fetched? I abandoned the foolish question for one more relevant. “The scars on my face came from casting obsidian, not the crown.”
“The pillars you channeled in Kael were used in conjunction with the crown to create the soldier-beasts. From that time, the circlet and the pillars were forever linked. In a moment of great need your body recognized that relationship, even if you did not.”
“I won’t complain, considering I was in chains at the time. But couldn’t you have found a less disturbing method of contacting me?”
“Gauging your tolerance of the scars was meant to be a gradual process. But my energy is waning. The transference of the archive must be completed soon.”
I said it aloud to be sure I understood. “You brought me here to give me your library.”
“Yes.”
“A library of the entire history of the Shinree that you’ve been imprinting on my skin in what looks like designs, but in reality, is layer upon layer of runes.”
“Correct.”
“Then, you’re not a god? Or are you?”
“I have told you the facts. You must decide for yourself what to believe.”
I blew out a quick, steadying breath. “I’m flattered. I truly am. But I don’t want to hold your knowledge. I want to use it. The crown was created to serve a purpose, to save the empire and the power of the Ruling House. Both are gone now. There’s no reason for the crown to exist anymore.”
“You would destroy it?”
“The task was recently given to me…a long time ago.” Her head cocked in confusion, and I smiled. It wasn’t an easy feat catching Fate off guard. “Do you know of our addiction? What happens when we don’t cast?”
“Yes.” Fate let go of my arm. I’d forgotten she was still holding it. How I’d grown used to the sensation of her touch I couldn’t fathom. But with the loss of it, the runes shifted back into scars. A trembling weakness settled into my limbs. Need breached my core without mercy. It clouded my thoughts, making my whole body quake like winter had fallen inside me. The pain in my temple and the merciless twisting in my gut nearly brought me to the floor.
Fate had granted me euphoria. Now, she plunged me into the depth of deprivation.
Never, had I craved this badly before. It felt like dying.
Sweating and shivering, I stared at her hands. The thought of the raw pleasure they secreted quickened my breath. The need for relief, disguised as the ache of lust, rushed blood to my groin. I watched her body cycle rapidly through multiple forms—an elderly woman, a young man, a little girl, a buxom woman ripe with child. Through every change, my need was constant. It cared nothing for what face satisfaction wore. But I did.
Fate or not, I wouldn’t be pulled toward it blindingly. Not anymore.
With a growl, I stepped back. “That,” I said; my voice rough and shaky. “That feeling right there,” I flung a hand in her direction, “what it feels like to touch you, what it feels like to want to touch you. It makes us addicts. It turns us into hypocrites and murderers. We think magic will stem the sickness. We’ve been taught channeling and casting will take the longing way. But what we need is the other parts of us. What was lost when our lines were divided, what was stolen when the eldring were created. The only way to repair the Shinree as a race—the only way to cure us—is to destroy the crown and return what it holds.”
“Shinree have been magic-borne for generations. Are you certain it is your duty to lift this burden?
“I’ve heard that word before, magic-borne. What does it mean?”
Her shifting eyes glazed. Her voice turned monotone as she defined the word. “The term is an ancient one, originally denoting a rite of passage, such as when a young Shinree is first burdened with the affliction you wish to cure. Over time, its meaning came to include any unpleasant or difficult magical task. Due to its negative implications, the House condemned its usage and the word was forbidden to be spoken or written.” Her recitation ended. Awareness returned to Fate’s gaze. Pitch and tone once more inhabited her words. “My question to you, L’tarian, still stands. Are you certain this burden is yours to bear?”
“I’ve had doubts. But after feeling that, after feeling you… How can I continue to condemn my race to such an existence?”
She stared at me. “Leave with the history I give you. Share it with your people. Teach them. Do not let your Reth blood doom you to be the weapon. Do not let guilt persuade you to be a sacrifice.”
“It’s not guilt. And it’s not Jem’s ancestry that guides me. The sickness I’ve felt, the cravings; all my life they’ve been tempered by my mother’s erudite blood. And I never knew. I never knew she was a descendant of the First Ones. I never understood that erudite weren’t merely the elite, but the only whole Shinree left in existence. Just like I never realized how bad the hunger could be for the other lines…until you showed me. You said it yourself: slavery robbed us of our belief. But our addiction keeps us enslaved. If I can restore our magic, maybe I can restore our faith as well.” She was frowning, but not arguing, so I asked the obvious question. “Will you stop me?”
“It is not for me to choose your path.”
“No,” I laughed. “You’ve just been tugging me along it for over ten years.”
“Once you were found you could not be unfound.” Her chin lifted as she appraised me. “Do you know how the Crown of Stones was created?
“With a ritual, a sacrifice.”
“Are you aware undoing the spell will require the same?”
“I am.”
“What of your other? Your sacrifice will affect him greatly.”
Sorrow thinned my voice. “I don’t want to hurt him. But two souls versus those of an entire race? I should think Fate would see that as a bargain.”
Her lips pursed; pale, red, wrinkled, plump and ringed by a beard, then pink. “Do you realize what you risk in this venture? Not merely souls, but history itself.”
“What if I pass the library onto someone else?”
“Not all are minds are capable of receiving it. And you must consider. The knowledge I offer is that of a race capable of great power. To prevent its misuse you must choose your vessel wisely, or your gamble may doom all of Mirra’kelan.”
“I understand.”
“Then your mind is made?”
“It is.”
“In that case, let us begin.” The words had barely fled her lips when the air constricted. It shifted and warped, and Fate’s dress dissolved like water drying in the sun. For a breath, her shapely body was as excruciatingly perfect as her face. Then the fluctuations began.
Hundreds of forms, male, female, old, young, blinked in and out in a strangely beautiful blur. The distortion slowed as Fate closed in. A spark of colored energy arced between us. “The spell that holds my existence within you will require sustenance to replenish. Each time you cast it will take for itself, increasing the price of your magic.”
“For how long?”
Her answer came in a dozen different pitches, overlapping and echoing. “When the last remnants of me has faded and you truly become one with the library, your spells will feed as normal. Until then, take care where you cast and how much magic you consume.”
“Will there be more scars?”
“Some. Though most of what I give you will reside below the surface. Understand, though, L’tarian, the strain of the transfer will be great. To cope, your mind will bury the pain. Doing so will hinder your ability to shift the scars, but submerging the memory of our encounter is the only way to endure it.”
> “You’re giving me the wisdom and experience of an empire, but I can’t access it, I can’t read it, and it will make my spells more deadly? For how long?” I asked again.
“Hours. Days. Minutes. I cannot predict. This situation is unique. As are you. Throughout history, no other Shinree has overcome their addiction. None have borne as much of magic’s weight, its pleasure, or its guilt. Now, I ask you to bear something new, something noble and good.” Significance sobered the voice of Fate. “Do you accept? Your answer must be given without reservation.”
I swallowed. “I accept.”
Her shifting hands gripped my face. As erratic as her nature, Fate’s touch was one minute soft and flowing like cool water on my skin; the next, fiery and harsh. It was a symphony of pleasure as her edges melted into mine and the shifting colors of a thousand hues took her eyes. I watched a slow darkness grow in their center. Expanding, filling the sockets, a braid of inky dark overflowed and fled her eyes. The wispy plaits burrowed into mine with fire and ice and an unending burst of images. Incessant flashes, fleet and unstable, climbed inside me. Pain rode their coattails. Ecstasy struggled to ooze in the cracks. I clung to it. I clung to her as she flowed over my skin.
For one beautiful moment, I saw everything that ever was.
Then with a burst of agony it was gone.
She was gone. And I was magic-borne.
FORTY
I woke to Jarryd’s hand on my shoulder and the roaring sound of the waterfalls. I had time to notice I was naked before our connection rushed back. Curiously, no memories rolled between us. My mind hadn’t simply buried the moment of transfer. It didn’t even recognize our separation. Like the time hadn’t passed at all. Yet I remember it.
At least, I remembered what transpired before I gave consent. After that: nothing. There was little evidence even to say it happened. The room was empty. The table, the pitcher and cups, the dice, the barrier holding back the falls; were all gone. Even Fate was gone.
She’s not gone, I thought. She’s inside me.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne Page 35