Winter's Crown

by Alexandra Little

  “Come with me,” Dalandaras said. He wasn’t even halfway down the hall before he shouted: “Alid!”

  I glanced up to the towers that protruded from the mountain. At the tallest of the towers I thought I saw black hair and a long robe shift away from a window, but the world started spinning and I had to look at my feet to stop it.

  “I have never seen him so furious,” Lorandal said. “What did happen?”

  “Could you put me in some corner first?” I managed to ask. “I think I’m going to vomit.”

  “Eva!” Zarah emerged just as Father and Aerik lowered me to the ground. “Where were you? What happened?”

  I curled up on the flagstones of the courtyard, glad to press my head to the cold ground.

  “Lorandal,” my father said.

  The elf’s hands touched my neck and forehead. “Nauseous?”

  “Oh, just a little,” I replied.

  “She vomited earlier,” my father said. “There were…I don’t know what you’d call them. There were four men, who were alive but decomposing. Something was keeping them in that state.”

  “Tell me.”

  He did, from my seeing the man to the footprints in the city, to the hidden room and the altars, the bodies, the ghosts, and the man. When I could open my mouth without vomiting, I described the map made of ash and blood.

  “Could we track the man?” Aerik asked.

  “He’s had too long to run,” Lorandal replied. “By the time we sent for more men, he would be too long gone. Eva has a fever.”

  “I’m fine,” I muttered, though I knew I wasn’t. “Though it’s probably no use telling you that.”

  “Dalandaras told me you did not sleep while we were in the mountains,” he replied. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “A little.”

  “It is all catching up to you. Come on then.” Lorandal lifted me up as easily as Dalandaras had. I didn’t object—I certainly wasn’t going to make it inside on my own—but his shoulder wasn’t as comfortable as Dalandaras’. And I missed the sage scent.

  The stairs were tricky to get up, and when we reached floor with our rooms I could hear raised voices coming from farther above. It was Dalandaras and Alid.

  “Set me down here,” I murmured.

  “How are you feeling?” Father asked, as he smoothed my hair from my face again.

  “Better,” I lied. “But I want to hear what they’re saying.”

  Zarah sat on the floor just off the landing. “Sit next to me, then.”

  Lorandal lowered me gently to the ground

  I rested my head on Zarah’s shoulder. “Who is Alid to Dalandaras?” I asked.

  Lorandal hesitated. “She is his half-sister. Singael is their grandfather. I had better see what is happening between them.”

  Half-sister. One a prince, a wanderer, and one who had to stay in one desolate place and take care of an old man. No wonder she wasn’t happy with him.

  “You probably haven’t eaten anything today either,” Aerik said. “I’ll be right back,” and he headed down the stairs again.

  From above, something smashed.

  “Should I be shocked that elves aren’t above throwing things at each other?” Father asked as he leaned against the archway.

  “Rusindal—that blond elf that’s always guarding the door—told me that their Queen doesn’t like putting money into this place,” Zarah said. “It doesn’’t sound too different from my father’s complaints about inadequate budgets.”

  Dalandaras’ voice boomed down from above in elvish. “How did no one notice that the city had been disturbed?”

  “We do not have the forces that we once did!” Alid protested in the same language. “No one likes to come here. No one likes to patrol the city.””

  “That is not good enough!” Dalandaras replied.

  “I wish I could understand them,” my father said. “It would make all of this much easier.”

  “It is the only answer you will hear, because it is the truth!” Alid said. “Good has little to do with it.”

  “And how quickly did things deteriorate?” Dalandaras demanded. “Why did you not write to me?”

  “Why did it take you three more years to come again?” she replied. “And you only came three years ago because grandfather summoned you. Grandfather, not I.”

  “Can you really understand all of that?” Zarah asked.

  “What are they saying?” Father asked.

  “Hush,” I said.

  “Do you not understand?” Alid demanded. “We are waiting for him to die! That is our only assignment, to wait for him to die! But he keeps living,” she spat the word out like it was an insult. “All that is required of him is to die. It is the one duty left to him, and yet he cannot do it. He still brings shame on us.””

  “It is your duty to care for him, and yet you do not. How is that not shameful?”

  “Here,” Aerik pressed strips of dried meat into my hand. “I don’t know what they put in it, but it’ll definitely set you to rights. I feel like I can ski another hundred miles easily.”

  It smelled like fishy beef. “What is it?”

  “Seal,” Zarah replied. “It’s not bad.”

  I bit into it, and begged to differ.

  “He is a criminal,” Alid said. “And you care more for him than you care for anyone else. He tells his secrets only to you, and to no one else. Secrets that the Queen wants, that we could use, but you are too selfish to see it.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I was. It was easier to believe that Dalandaras was only keeping secrets in order to keep more people from discovering the ruins and the apparition. But why wouldn’t he keep secrets for his own use?

  “What are they saying now?” Aerik asked.

  “Singael is a criminal,” I replied. “He did something heinous enough that he was left here to rot.”

  “Is this a prison, then?” Zarah asked.

  “I think so.”

  Aerik was right about the jerky. It didn’t taste like much, but I was feeling better.

  I managed to stand.

  “What are you doing?” Father asked.

  “I want to speak to Singael.”

  “I thought you already tried.”

  “I want to try again. He’s in there somewhere. Just give me a few minutes.”

  Without their help, I managed to wobble my way back through the empty halls to Singael’s study.

  He had been changed into a shirt and trousers, and a blanket covered his lap. But it was all haphazardly thrown on; his shirt was bunched up and the blanket hadn’t even been unfolded before being tossed onto him.

  I hesitated, not quite sure of my own ability to stay upright. Lorandal was right - it was all catching up to me. I could feel the need to sleep pressing at me. But I couldn’t sleep, not yet. I leaned over Singael. I tugged his shirt into place, and then took off the blanket and shook it out. I tucked it around his waist and legs. I thought he shifted and allowed me to fold it around him, but there was so little of him underneath his clothes that I couldn’’t be sure. Nobody had put socks or shoes on him; his bare feet rested on stone.

  “Alid is right about one thing,” I murmured as I made sure that his feet were wrapped up. “Dalandaras should be here more often. Whatever Alid has against being left here to take care of you, she doesn’t get to treat you badly.”

  I sat next to him. He didn’t look much like a criminal. But my criminals were sailors who deserted their duty, or desecrated dead pirates after a battle. My criminals did not live to old age.

  I took his hands in mine, but he didn’t squeeze back. His hands were scarred; the pads of his fingers were mutilated.

  I pushed up his sleeves, and my heart chilled. His arms were scarred too. He—or someone—had taken a blade to them. The scars had paled and thinned, and his wrinkled, age-spotted skin distorted some of the images, others were clear enough to recognize. There were ruin marks and double-circle seals. There were words
and symbols, many of which has been cut over again and again until they were nothing more than a mass of raised, smooth skin.

  I turned his arms over. The soft underside was marred with twisting lines. His wrists and the insides of his elbow were scarred as well, but the lines ran straight over where his veins were. Had he tried to kill himself? Or had it been a part of the blood magic?

  The lines on each arm looked as if they could match up. I brought his arms closer together. It was a map, or what was left of one after what must have been years of healing. I could just barely make out this place, and the bay. Ash and blood weren’t enough? Now it had to be living flesh?

  “I saw one in the city,” I said, hoping that some of my words were making it through to him. “A map. Made of blood and ash. Is this the same sort of thing? Is it more powerful if you carve it into yourself? Is this what you’re haunted by? Is this what you saw, what you did, thousands of years ago?”

  There was no answer. Maybe Alid was right. Singael was just not there anymore.

  “What have you done that is so unspeakable you are left to rot here? Answer me. Answer me.”

  I closed my eyes, tried to reach for that same inner place I had used to summon my guardian. “Answer me.” But as hard as I tried to reach, I could not put any power behind my words. I didn’t have the heart for it right now.

  “How many of those poor men am I going to find? How many mostly dead people am I going to have to burn?”

  I wished I could summon him back from wherever he was, the way I could summon that woman and my mother into existence.

  Father knocked before entering. “Nothing?”

  Maybe I could summon Singael back. “Father, can you get Dalandaras and Lorandal?”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Just an idea to get Singael to wake up.”

  I smoothed his sleeves back down, and waited.

  When they came, Dalandaras was subdued.

  “How are you?” I asked. What I wanted to ask was, what else has your grandfather told you that I don’t know about? It didn’t seem the appropriate time.

  Behind Dalandaras’ back, Lorandal caught my eye and shook his head.

  Right. “I have an idea,” I said cautiously. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  Dalandaras went over to the desk and leaned against it. “You’re probably right,” he said in a tone that was too pleasant after everything that had happened.

  “Well…if your grandfather is the only one who knows about all of this, and he’s the only one that we know of who has a hand in it all, then maybe his state isn’t due to old age.”

  “He injured his head,” Lorandal said. “I was a boy then. That was when Singael went mad and his companions disappeared, and the late King forbade anyone to speak their names.”

  “There was a collapse,” Dalandaras said. “I was a boy then as well, and I went with my mother to search for my grandfather. We pulled him out of rubble. He was almost completely crushed.”

  “Where was this collapse?” I asked. “In the city out there?”

  “No, farther north.”

  “Wait, you were involved in this, and you didn’t think to mention it?”

  He shrugged again. “The then-King commanded, and I duly forgot.”

  “I’m sure you did,” I murmured. “Maybe you could try to remember whether cracking his skull really has anything to do with his current state? Because according to you, he was coherent enough to send you to the Fort to ask about some very specific doors in some very specific ruins.”

  “What are you implying?”

  I didn’t know what to imply about him, but there was definitely something to imply. Of course, I was a fool to think that all Dalandaras was only involved because his grandfather had asked him to check up on a ghost that likes to suck bodies dry. “I’’m implying that Singael’s still in there. And I want to summon him back.”

  “Summon him?” Father asked.

  “I fibbed a little bit about the woman who helped me when we were fighting at the Fort. I summoned her, sort of. I asked for help, and she’s what came.”

  “But asking for something in the heat of a battle,” Dalandaras said. “Is not the same as purposefully trying to do it.”

  “I summoned her the other night.”

  “You what?” father demanded.

  “When everyone else was asleep, I crawled out of the tent and summoned the woman. I want to try to summon Singael.”

  “Are you mad?” Lorandal asked. “To have done that without help or training or a guide?”

  “But I can do it, which is the point!” I replied. “If Singael’s mind has gone to a place that is connected to all of this, then why can’t I try to get him back?”

  “It is dangerous,” Dalandaras insisted.

  “Do you have any better ideas?” I demanded. “Do we know where the apparition is right now? Do we know who the man in the city is and why he seems to be helping the apparition? And do we even know what Singael did to imprison the apparition in the first place? I am open to suggestions, but if you have none other than continuing to run away…”

  The three men seemed to be considering it. Father was getting very good at the silent communication look that the elves seemed to specialize in.

  “One try,” Father said. “Just one.”

  “I will help,” Dalandaras said. “But just once. That is it. But you summoned a creature last time. Now you need to find Singael.”

  “How?”

  “Take his hands and close your eyes.” Dalandaras came up behind me, and touched my shoulders.

  I did as he told me.

  “Think of wherever you reached to find that woman. Remember it.”

  I did, and felt myself slipping into that in-between place.

  “Now feel Singael’s hands in yours, and picture him. Picture…an explorer. A man who liked to discover old civilizations, and to sketch ruined cities, and map the stars. That is where you will find Singael.”

  Singael’s hands disappeared from mine. A burst of heat hit my face.

  I opened my eyes. I hadn’t summoned him back. And I wasn’t in his study in the mountains.

  I was standing on a wide span of black rock. The rock was wrinkled, and seemed to have flowed out in many different directions. There were layers of it, as if one river of rock had flowed over another.

  Off in the distance, partially distorted by the shimmering of a heat haze, was a steep cliff’s edge made of the same black stone. But down the cliff’s side were slow-dripping channels of molten rocks. Waves of heat obscured the destination of the molten rock. If the channels pooled at the bottom of the cliff, I could not see it. There was a great crackling and rumbling in the air, but I couldn’t tell where it came from.

  “Singael?” I called.

  All that answered was the crackling.

  The sun bore down from a clear sky, and rivulets of sweat ran down my face. I was still dressed for the cold. I started stripped off my coat and tunic, down to my undershirt, but it was still much hotter than anything I was used to, even in warm Port Darad.

  I started walking towards the cliff. The landscape grew clearer, and a ridge of black rock rose up in front of me. It was a little taller than I was, but the sides were steep. I followed it to the right, moving closer to the cliffs and the molten rock. The crackling grew louder. The ground slowly sloped upward, until I was walking on top of the mound. I halted, and stared. To my left, held back by the mound, was a crackling pool of molten rock. A crust of dark rock had formed across the top of it, but the molten rock beneath broke it apart and consumed it, only for the new surface to harden in its place.

  To the right, just along the edge of the lake, was a small clump of spruce trees, willows, grasses, and sedges. Snow fell from the cloudless sky and blanketed the flora and black rock. The trees and bushes closest to the lake were on fire—the molten rock had flowed over the lake boundary and surrounded the base of the plants.

  And next to it a
ll was Singael. Tending to the plants. And he was humming a song.

  He was younger here. His skin was smoother, his hair healthier and not so brittle. He looked more like Dalandaras than he did the crippled man in the study.

  “Singael?” I asked. I was more than happy to move into the shade of the trees and the coolness of the snow.

  He spun. His eyes widened, and he staggered back. “Adhanel?”

  Before I could shake my head, his astonishment disappeared. His shoulders sagged, and it looked as if he was going to cry. “You are not Adhanel.”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  He stiffened, and stood tall, any hint of tears gone. “And you are human. Why are you tainting my home? Go away.”

  “Are you Singael?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Just making certain.” The pool of molten rock seemed to be edging closer.

  “Why would you need to?”

  “You look younger than you are.”

  “Are you from...out there?”

  “Dalandaras sent me.”

  “Dalandaras!” His eyes lit up. “Is he well?”

  “I’m not too sure. He and Alid are fighting quite a bit.”

  “They always do.”

  Under the snow, I was cold again, but just a step over I was too hot. “Where are we?”

  “We are on the border of death,” Singael said.

  A small patch of the pillow-shaped rock turned red, then broke out into a tiny flow of molten rock that surrounded the small tree. The trunk burst into flames, the fire quickly climbing the tree to engulf the leaves. The molten rock cooled red and then hardened again. “I…see.” I was really hoping that I could just summon him back, not find myself pulled into whatever Singael was dreaming.

  “What do you want? I am busy.”

  “You need to come back with me.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re needed. There’s a problem. You told your grandson about some ruins and a set of doors.”

  “I did?” Singael asked. “I thought I had dreamt that. It is hard to remember what is a dream and what is real.”

  “The doors have been opened.”

  “Is Dalandaras mad? I only told him so that there would be one last guardian to watch over the place when I die.”

  “He didn’t do it. There were four men—looters—who cracked the seal on the door before I could stop them.”