The Obsidian Crown, page 8
No sooner than I had mentally stated my conviction, the energy started to course from the box. This time it came fast and hard. I felt like the air was about to run out. I started to breathe in short gasps. It bound my hand to the box. I tried to pull my hands away but to no avail. My arms felt numb, and my feet were rooted to where I stood. Currents of energy ran from the box to my hand and up and down my body. I was shocked at the intensity of the invisible grip. Then I sensed more than intensity, I felt a curious sense of urgency in the clutch. I tried to fight it. I refused to look at it. But it only took a moment before I realized it was futile to resist the bind.
CHAPTER 9
The Kerberian Box
Beyond the warped airspace enveloping my body, I could hear the debate raging, as if the voices were all coming from a separate room. Even though I know they were all standing there, just a few feet away. I heard and saw Blaise and Hailey fighting about the nature of power through the invisible wall.
But I had more immediate worries than winning a philosophical discussion. It seemed the box had finally decided to grab my full attention. I tried to fight one more time, to release my hold. But the more I struggled, the more it strengthened its grip.
There really was power within the box. A sudden wash of lukewarm energy rushed over me from head to toe. It felt pleasing and inviting. Then there was a change in the power around it.
I decided to go the reverse and hold on to the box firmly. After a few moments, apparently, when it was finally convinced I was not going to let go, the box slackened its grip on my body. My knees wobbled a bit and I decided to sit down for support. From beyond the fiery debate over the nature of power, I could see the bloodshot eyes of the doctor scrutinizing me.
I took a seat on a small stool by the firelight; I placed the box on my lap still pretending that nothing was happening. I was still trying to incline my head to avoid looking at it. But as soon as my eyes locked on the dark container, I felt an invisible partition separate me from the rest of the room. I was in an air bubble of some sort. The air within got thicker. I couldn’t tell if I was still in the same place but isolated from the rest— because their voices sounded muffled, like they were underwater. The hair on the back of my neck, arms, and head stood on ends as I began to feel the thickened air get charged with static electricity. I tried to close my eyes but the latent energy coursing all over my body had awoken my curiosity. The box was in control now. No matter what I did, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Knowing that I could no longer resist it, I told myself to relax and to let the energy flow through me. To let the box know me and let it trust me. I needed to know what it wanted to say.
There was real power within the wooden case. A sudden wash of lukewarm energy rushed over me from head to toe. It felt good and inviting. Then there was a change in the energy around the box on my lap. I focused my eyes on it, somehow knowing that it would spur the carvings to move faster. A shroud of mist was beginning to form around it, covering my hands and obscuring the writhing black wood. I remembered what the doctor said. The wood is alive. A worm-like vine started to wriggle and wrap its body around my wrists. The small wooden tendril was cold, coarse and scaly. Every time it moved, my every instinct repelled it and made my stomach turn. Then several smaller tentacles attached themselves to my hand, slithering and snaking about my fingers. I gasped.
My heart was pumping so hard I could feel my heartbeat in my chest and the roaring of my blood rushing in my head. I shuddered and grasped the Kerberian box firmer, but the invisible grip it had around me tightened. So, I controlled my breathing and forced myself to slacken my hold. In response, it did the same, leaving me holding it with relative ease. I noticed that the mist started to glow a dark blue-grey hue. When it dissipated, the wooden carvings were gray. The carvings were still moving, slithering in and out of it like snakes in a pit. Soon, the writing was so intense that I couldn’t make out the frame at all. But then, little by little, the movement slowed down, and the carvings settled into shapes.
I first noticed a big paw pushing down on a round black gem. It was secured to the wood by a hinge that swung left to right, covering a metal frame. The writhing continued to slow down and finally revealed the rest of the animal whose paw was sitting on the jewel. It was attached to a dog with three heads. The central dog’s head watching over the latch looked at me menacingly, while the other two were facing the other direction.
I was frozen. When I didn’t do anything, the head on one side let out a deafening growl.
Somehow knowing that the wood was alive and in the form of a vicious three-headed dog guarding a valuable object, I decided that it might be waiting for me to do something. On intuition, I carefully swung the black gem to the right to uncover the metal frame underneath. In the middle of the frame was a sharp, four-sided tack. I didn’t know what the tack was for; I took a closer look into the frame when all three heads turned to me and their eyes opened all at once. I pulled my hand away from the tack in surprise.
“Doctor McGrath...the box,” but she didn’t hear me through the invisible partition.
The dogs started growling a low disconcerting, impatient grumble. Their shaggy mane brushed against my skin and hot slobber wet my fingers. An uncontrollable shudder took over me. I was getting too scared to hold on to the box, and it was beginning to teeter on my lap. Then the dogs began to snarl, baring their fangs, and spitting out froth from their gaping mouths. I froze. They pounced. I jerked and the box started to slide from my lap. I reached out to catch it, grabbing it just in time.
“Ouch! I yelped as the sharp tack pierced my thumb. Immediately, the dogs’ heads retreated and slowly they went back into their solid wooden shapes. I instinctively pulled my hand back and stuck my thumb in my mouth to stop the bleeding, still staring at the now immobile statues wondering if I imagined it all.
The box tumbled to the soft carpet. Everyone stared as it rolled to a stop. Doctor McGrath picked it up off the floor and put her arms around me protectively.
“What happened? What did you see?” the Doctor asked me with the same bloodshot overly concerned eye. But her voice betrayed her. It was filled with rabid eagerness and anticipation.
It annoyed me, knowing she left me by myself to face the vicious animal. “What makes you think I saw anything? I don’t know what I saw. I need to get a Band-Aid!” I said and ran to the bathroom.
I turned on the faucet full blast and quickly splashed water over my face, forgetting for a moment about my bleeding finger. I needed to wake up from this dreadful nightmare. The icy water was soothing so I pushed my head lower into the sink. I pulled my soaked head out and turned the tap down. My hand was still bleeding so I kept it under the small flow and watched the blood trickle down, mixing with the water as it circled at the bottom of the bowl before disappearing down below. The continuous spiral of red brought the whole event back in my mind again. From the moment the tack pricked my finger and the time I pulled my hand away, I felt like I lived a thousand years. The tiredness saturated my bones. But more importantly, I saw something there, and it terrified me.
The box had the crown in it. A very vivid vision of a black crown filled my mind and pungent smell of burned flesh suddenly permeated the air. It was the ugliest crown I had ever seen. Seven spikes of the jagged black stones set in dark metal. I found no beauty, no grace in its design. It was not meant to enhance but to debase the wearer. It was not black because of its color. It was black because it was sucking the light out of everything around it. Its power was unforgiving. But the crown wanted itself to be known.
The vision continued. There was a man dressed in an impressive garment and a long thick robe embroidered in fine silk and embedded with expensive gems. He was standing tall and proud on a grand stage, wearing his crown of jewels and surrounded by a small group also elegantly dressed. They congratulated him for unbroken peace over their land. He held his head high above those who toasted and praised him for bringing total harmony in their realm. But beyond the festivities, hundreds of thousands of people were shirking from fright. Their deep, sunken eyes averted from the spectacle as if worried that they might be noticed. They huddled together, the chains on their feet and wrists unheard from the festivity up above. Their silent cry for justice and freedom stabbed me in my gut. My heart felt like a cinder block was tied to it squeezing it with guilt and pity.
Soon the image was replaced with the king being dragged through a path up the same raised platform. He was on his knees being held down by some kind of invisible restraints. His once elegant clothing now torn and bedraggled, and his bejeweled crown crumpled like tin and discarded. He was pleading for anyone to help him, begging for his life. He struggled violently, kicking and pushing, trying to escape. But the more he wrestled, the more he was pushed lower and his head bowed.
Slowly and deliberately, the jagged, black crown was placed on his head. He fought so hard to get away, but with no success. I cannot testify as to whether he deserved it or not, but I can to the long and tormented death that he suffered. My head was pierced with the agonized wails as I watched as the time stood still within the purple circle cast by the crown. For those outside the circle time was normal. But within, I saw as bit by bit, his eyes dried up within their sockets, leaving only phantom caves where the windows of his soul used to be. My body shook from the shock as I witnessed his body started to decay. His shrieks pierced my mind as his flesh slowly heated up and dried like a petrified wood. I gasped as the desiccated shell of a man imploded into a shower of ash, and then be blown into nothingness by the wind, leaving the crown tumbling to the ground.
I clutched at my chest and felt the pounding of my heart once again. Beads of cold sweat forming anew around my temples. My whole being railed against this murder, but the crown was not done with me yet.
I saw thousands of people cowering under the power of the black crown, still sitting on the ground where the head of the king had fallen. I saw his kingdom, his people, and everything that he had sucked into the crown’s hungry power as if they never existed. The stench of charred meat consumed my senses. It was mass murder to a scale I could not accept in my head. I gave an involuntary gag and bile rose to my tongue.
The rushing of the water brought me back to “reality”. I took some and gargled, hoping the bitterness and memory will wash away. I shook the water off and dried my hand, thinking how ironic it was that I used to know what that word meant.
My senses were still raw from the recollection of the events. The feeling of being pulled into the darkness of the crown. It wasn’t just an emotional darkness. It was a physical one too, like my body, my mind, my very essence would break into pieces and would be trapped alive in utter darkness, forever. Despite all that, it was the guilt and utter desolation that brought me to tears.
I continued to press on the small cut on my thumb well after it had stopped bleeding. I don’t know if Blaise was right about power being just power. After what I saw and felt, I now believed there was some power that cannot ever be used for good.
Beyond this discovery, two other truths occurred to me: the Knights of the Crown will keep coming until they get the box. They will not stop until they have the crown. The other, that the Trifama will also do the same.
More than ever, I wished my parents were here. I wished they had prepared me for this. Why do they have possession of the box? Did they know what was inside? Did they ever use it? Why is this witch of the mob working with my family to help me?
I looked up at the mirror and gripped the basin to steady myself. I stared straight at a face haggard with apprehension and blood dripping down from her forehead. I did a double take. Recovering from the momentary shock, it began to dawn that the blood was from my finger and the fatigued face was my own. Still something was different. But the ensuing symbolism didn’t escape me. I realized that if the Knights are after the Crown, they intend to use it on someone. That someone will suffer and die, and that his death will be on my head.
I took my uninjured hand and washed my face again. But recognition didn’t come. I no longer know who the person was staring back at me. Somehow the knowledge changed something inside.
I grabbed a clean towel from a stack on a small ornate table and wiped my face. Staring into the reflection at the mirror, I vowed, it doesn’t matter who I am. I know what I am. And I will not be used to unleash the power of the crown in this reality nor in any other reality. The Knights be damned!
By the Author, “Cerberos, Three Headed Hound of Hades” Artist rendering in pencil. 2019
CHAPTER 10
The Truth About Time Travel
When I got back to the Sanctuary, the group was all huddled at a table. Everyone was talking over each other.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“We are trying to figure out how to rescue Kieran, or Kieran’s body at least,” Hailey answered.
“As I said, there are seams between the realms where we can cross using magic. Some of those seams or ley lines are in areas of the world where gravity is stronger than other places. Some strong enough so that the time there is more compressed than the time in the real world,” Doctor McGrath said.
“We get it. You’re saying that we can go back in time. How far back?” I asked.
“Just a few minutes, few hours at the most. We can’t go back, let’s say, to before you were born. There are certain laws of magic that, if broken, have real consequences in Xana and the Terran world. That’s one of them.”
“But if you can travel back in time, what happens when you meet yourself?” Hailey asked. Everyone looked at her as if they couldn’t believe she asked this question.
“I’m just saying, what if we cancel each other out and end up dead.”
The Doctor said, “That’s all sci-fi crap from Hollywood. Another law of time travel that you must know, what happens when you meet yourself is that you converge on the dominant timeline. So, if you go back to the real world and meet yourself there, you will converge on the most dominant timeline. That is if the incantation works.”
“Well wait, incantation? How does that work?” Blaise asked.
“If you meet yourself and you consciously chose to use the later timeline while the incantation is being said, then it negates the old. Yes, it will be as if the old timeline didn’t happen except for in your memory,” Doctor McGrath said.
“But Kieran won’t have a memory of his death. So, his dominant timeline will be what, the one where he is dead? Besides, he can’t do the incantation,” I argued.
“Correct, because death is a life-force-converging point. Meaning everything about you converges at the point and the story, as we say, ends there.”
“But then, if we get there and Kieran-from-the-past meets Kieran-the-dead, then he’s dead anyway, right?” Taylor said.
“That’s right, so whatever you do, don’t let him get dead, got it? And he doesn’t have to be the one saying the incantation. Here, you need to memorize this. Make sure you choose the dominant timeline as you recite these words.” Doctor McGrath handed each of us a piece of paper with the words:
“As life is ruled by time, let time be ruled by us.
Negate the line we do not want and make this time ascendant.”
Blaise finished reading and said, “Got it!” with absolute fake certainty. I could see that he looked just as confused as he was before.
I finished reading the incantation. I committed it to memory and said, “So what’s the plan?”
Hailey got up and pointed to the library door as she explained sarcastically, “Basically, we go back in time, go to the library and save Kieran; hopefully, the hooded men are not there. If they are, then we fight them to the death, and we finish our detention as if nothing happened.”
“Simple! No, really, what if the hooded guys are there waiting for us?” I asked.
The Doctor got up, waving her hand at both of us. “That’s why you will go to another portal which will take you back in time. I will go to the library and wait with Kieran’s body. I think the doors were blasted open, so I need to close off the library if someone tries to come in. We need to keep Kieran’s body where it lays until you can converge the timeline.”
“Where’s the other portal, again, the one that gets us four extra hours?” I asked.
“It’s a ways off from the school, but you should be able to get back in time. It’s called the Black Rose Antiquary in Jensen.”
“Wait, that’s an hour from school with a car. We won’t have a car. How long do we have?”
“We have been away for an hour. If you don’t get home soon, people will be suspicious. You should be getting to the Black Rose around four, right before you go to detention. This gives you two hours to get back to the library and save Kieran. Otherwise, you are stuck in this timeline with Kieran dead.”
Hailey jumped to her feet. “We’ll figure out how to get back to the school as soon as we get topside or normal side or human side or whatever, you know what I mean. Let’s go.”
“You can’t go now; we have to wait to align this portal with the target portal. Just be patient,” the Doctor said as she walked over to the gilded table and lightly touched the top of the Kerberian box. “Abigail, you need to think back. Your parents must have told you something. You must have seen something earlier. You need to remember. Lives are depending on it.”
“I told you. I don’t know anything.” That’s not true at all anymore. I know that sharing what I just learned was just going to put me in a worse position.
To my surprise, Taylor got up, walked towards me with her finger-wagging, and said, “You know, you need to grow up and think. I...we are not going to die for you! You have gotten your parents killed, and Kieran is possibly dead! How many more bodies will there be before you get off your hash-tag-I’m-the-victim-here-woe-is-me band wagon and start using your brain. Yeah, yeah, we get it. Your parents are dead. I’m so done with this ‘I’m innocent, and I don’t know anything act!’” she railed.
