The Bone Shaker

by Edward Cox

  She had spoken the truth when she told Sir Vladisal that she did not know why her masters wanted their countrywoman dead. Not so long ago, Dun-Wyrd had been an esteemed hierarch of Mya-Siad. Her fall from grace and eventual death warrant had been as much a surprise as a mystery. But although it was not Abildan’s place to question, the situation was beginning to make a little more sense, especially in light of Vladisal’s confirmation of Elander’s gift.

  Voices reached her ears.

  Four knights had moved away from the camp. They came to stand beneath Abildan’s high perch, unaware of her presence. Keeping silent, the feliwyrd smiled as their hushed voices rose up to her ears.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Sir Vladisal said.

  “We need to speak with you alone,” old Üban replied in a gruff voice.

  Sir Luca remembered a little respect for her captain, and her tone was kinder. “Just hear us out, Vlad. This needs to be said.”

  The colossal one, Sir Dief, said nothing and stood holding her hammer across her chest.

  Vladisal sighed heavily.

  “I don’t need to air my feelings on chasing faeries and shadows,” Üban said. “I think you know my frustrations well enough by now.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Then let us suppose that Redheart is successful in finding the Ulyyn, and ask ourselves a question. Why should the Forest Dwellers help a group of knights running around their lands like fools, especially when there’s a feliwyrd in their company?”

  “Üban-”

  “Listen to her, Vlad,” Sir Luca urged. “She speaks for Dief and me also.”

  Dief grunted agreement. Abildan studied the big knight. In the fading light, there seemed to be a waxy, unhealthy sheen on Dief’s pale face.

  “Then speak.” Vladisal said in a low voice laced with suspicion.

  “The Ulyyn are lovers of nature,” Luca said. “They believe that every creature has a divine right to follow the natural progression of life, unhindered, without manipulation. In this, the Ulyyn and the Wyrd do not make easy bedfellows.”

  Abildan conceded the point with a slow, silent nod.

  Luca continued. “Why would the likes of Abildan possess a talisman of the Ulyyn, when the feliwyrd are in every way an abomination to them? Such a perversion of life is an insult to their beliefs, Vlad, and they would kill her on sight. It makes no sense that they would give her that talisman.”

  Vladisal was quiet for a moment. “It also makes little sense that Mya-Siad would send an assassin to kill a Wyrd, but Abildan is-”

  “Will you stop defending that bastard animal!” Üban hissed. “Abildan is hiding something from us, and it might make the difference between Elander living or dying!”

  Abildan nicked her finger on the crossbow bolt’s blade. She licked the blood away.

  “Please, Vlad, will you listen to your friends?” Dief sounded tired, like her voice came from a raw and dry throat. “No one among us is learned in history and lore above Luca, and there is more to what she knows.”

  Luca said, “If Abildan has any kind of history with the Ulyyn - which seems doubtful, but if it is there - then it cannot be good history. We are the ones following her, Vlad. Why would the Ulyyn see us as anything other than the enemy?”

  “But that’s a small matter,” Üban said coldly. “Abildan has lied to you, Vlad - lied to us all. Whatever that talisman is, we can be entirely assured that we or Redheart do not need it to find the Ulyyn.

  “Tell her, Luca,” Dief croaked.

  Luca ran a hand through her lank hair. “Legends of the Forest Dwellers are mixed and varied, but all the histories I have read agree on this - the Ulyyn are in tune with the forest. They literally feel through the trees, the roots in the ground, the very earth, and they can detect when intruders tread upon their lands. The Great Forest is their realm, Vlad. They would feel our presence.”

  Vladisal looked uncertain. “You’re saying that they already know we are here?”

  “No,” Üban growled. “She’s saying that if the Ulyyn still existed at all then they would have attacked us by now, talisman or not.”

  The following silence was heavy.

  Vladisal swore.

  Abildan shook her head, closed the box, and slid it back under her shirt.

  “Actually, that’s only half true,” she said, before jumping down to land gracefully beside Sir Üban.

  All four knights took an involuntary step back.

  Abildan cast a yellow-eyed glare on Dief. “Your friend might be learned in history, Sir Knight, but the trouble with history is that it lacks experience, always written by those who were never there.”

  She turned to Luca. “The truth is, the Ulyyn are hypocrites. With one hand they respect and nurture life above all other things, yet with the other they would take it from you as if it were worthless.”

  She looked to Vladisal. “Yes, the Ulyyn are in tune with their environment, but even their magic cannot encompass the Great Forest in its entirety. No. They feel the land only to the borders of their city. The Ulyyn do not detect us because we do not stand in Uljah, and, more importantly, nor does Dun-Wyrd.”

  Lastly, Abildan turned to old Üban. “Your suspicions are quite correct. I know many, many things that I would never tell you. As for being a liar, I prefer the term pragmatist.”

  Üban’s hand rested on her sword. “Your words have little to trust in them, Abildan.”

  “And we’re sick of your games,” Dief said.

  “Sick?” Abildan peered into the big knight’s wan face. “Yes, you do seem a little unwell.”

  Dief bristled - eager to turn her hammer on the small assassin.

  “Enough,” Vladisal ordered. “You know there is truth in what Luca has said, Abildan. Tell us, what is the talisman? Does it truly come from the Ulyyn?”

  Abildan clamped her jaw. To prattle so was an unnecessary waste of time. But she could not face Dun-Wyrd alone, and if these knights were to prove useful, then they needed to act with a clear head, a clear conscience. Vladisal’s closest friends needed a reason to trust their captain’s judgement, and if they fell in line, so would the rest of the women of Boska. Unquestioningly. The feliwyrd could see that this would not happen now until she threw them a bone, as it were.

  “Very well,” she said. “I came to the Great Forest a long time ago. Again on the orders of Mya-Siad, but with a very different quest. Regardless, be assured that the talisman was given to me by the Ulyyn. It was a gift. Of sorts.”

  Cutting through Üban’s disbelieving scoff and Luca’s dubious reaction, Vladisal said, “For what reason? You heard Luca - the Ulyyn would not tolerate a feliwyrd so easily.”

  “You’re right,” said Abildan. “But the Ulyyn do like to complicate matters for themselves.”

  She frowned at the four demanding expressions, lingering a moment on Dief’s, before sighing and looking to the darkening sky.

  “It’s growing late, but…” Abildan grinned. “Perhaps there is time enough for a tale to be told…”

  Twelve

  Abildan and the Ulyyn

  Far in the east, the desert planes of Mya-Siad sprawled beneath a harsh sun and bitter moon. There, surrounded by leagues of unforgiving sands, stood Siadan City, the greatest city on Earth, home to tens of thousands.

  The southern edge of Siadan City sat in the shadows of the Dead Mountains, a vast range of black and sharp rock whose summits reached high into the bleached sky. Carved into the faces of the Dead Mountains were the dark towers of the Wyrd, who ruled over their subjects with an uncompromising fist.

  The citizens never questioned the hierarchs of Mya-Siad. Night and day they felt the all-seeing gazes from the dark towers, as though a great bird of prey ever loomed over them. The magic of the Wyrd was potent and terrible, but they ruled their country well, and had brought much prosperity to a desert nation over the centuries. The citizens respected that and, as harsh as their masters were, they knew the Wyrd worked tirelessly to ensure M
ya-Siad’s greatness, to perfect every aspect of society, and, most especially, to govern the shape of the future.

  Far beneath the black towers, in the very belly of the Dead Mountains, the Wyrd kept their favourite pets chained to the floors of lightless caverns.

  The oracwyrd.

  They had once been human, yet with their withered, useless bodies, and colourless, blind eyes, the oracwyrd could hardly be described as such now. After years of dreaming in clouds of opium smoke, after decades of suffering the torments of magic poisoning, their minds had grown beyond the need for physical bodies, beyond the designs of the cursed Mother God. The oracwyrd were spirits of prescience. Their dreams were bright, alive, and their visions were far-seeing.

  Without reward or respite, the oracwyrd dreamed of infinite timelines, searching for every possible future where the rule of Mya-Siad had come to dominate Earth. The Wyrd studied what their pets saw, and learned how that future could be achieved. They recognised crucial events which had to pass, and what obstacles needed to be removed. And remove them the Wyrd did, with merciless precision.

  Often, the oracwyrd gave their masters a name - a name of one who would in some way hinder the quest for dominance. At such times the Wyrd did not hesitate to unleash their most deadly assassins. And the feliwyrd rarely failed in their tasks…

  Deep in the Great Forest, shafts of summer sunshine speared through a verdant canopy, down onto a small figure, half-human, half-cat.

  Abildan the feliwyrd sat cross-legged upon the leafy floor, only vaguely aware of the birdsong twittering around her. In the hazy heat, she stared ahead to where the forest had become dense and impenetrable. Her journey from Mya-Siad to the Great Forest had comprised many long weeks of hard travelling; and now, to the untrained eye, it seemed that Abildan’s journey had come to a dead end.

  But where others would see tree and brush grown into wild, impassable woodland over the years, the feliwyrd saw a construct, a work of magical engineering, a wall that protected the borders of a city called Uljah where the Ulyyn dwelt. She could attempt to hack and slash her way through, but she would never cut a path to the land beyond, not if she spent the remainder of her life trying to do so. No. There was only one way to enter the forest city.

  On the ground before Abildan lay a doe. Dead, its throat torn out by sharp, feline claws, its blood still warm.

  Taking a small and keen knife from a hip sheath, Abildan sliced the doe from throat to gut. She parted skin and muscle with her hands. The ribcage broke easily, and Abildan removed it, methodically, one snap at a time like the young bones were no tougher than dry twigs. She then reached into the chest cavity. With care, she cut out the doe’s heart. The organ smelled healthy and stout.

  The Wyrd taught their assassins the benefits of blood magic. Not much, not enough to make the feliwyrd proficient magickers, but sufficiently to quicken already fast reflexes and heighten already honed senses. Blood magic altered the perceptions of the feliwyrd; it could show them the hidden corners of the world, reveal secret paths.

  Abildan bit into the heart.

  There was no fat, only muscle, and it was tough to chew. She took a second bite, a third and fourth, until the heart was devoured. She closed her eyes, whispering secret words that had been taught to her by the Wyrd.

  The forest changed. Branch, root and leaf began sighing upon Abildan’s senses. The hidden energy of the Great Forest whispered to her. She stood, revelling in the magic that now fuelled her body. Yellow eyes became black as night.

  Stepping over the doe’s corpse, Abildan approached the wall of Uljah. She growled another, single word of her masters, this one a simple command. As if cowering to the sorcery of the Wyrd, the dense foliage shivered and parted to reveal a shadowy tunnel that stretched into unknown woodlands beyond.

  Pleased, Abildan stared into the gloom.

  Once she entered the tunnel, her presence would be detected by the lines of power that criss-crossed the lands of Uljah. They would warn the Ulyyn of an intruder. Warriors would come for the feliwyrd. The magic of Uljah would command the forest itself to rise and attack her. But the Ulyyn knew nothing of Abildan’s mission, of why the Wyrd had sent her. A game was about to begin, a game of time, a duel of the quickest, and Abildan had until the power of blood magic wore off to make the first strike.

  Relishing the challenge before her, her mind and body alive with eldritch energy, the feliwyrd sprang forward and bolted down the tunnel.

  Of course there was a guardian protecting the lush glade on the other side: a dryad, young and agile with long vines rising behind it, twisting and venomous. Abildan drew her curved sabre as she ran. She barely broke her stride as she cut the vines from the dryad’s back and slit its throat. With a scream like moaning wind, the dryad fell and thrashed on the mossy floor. Its death throes sounded the final alarm that would announce Abildan’s arrival.

  She sped on, climbing the steep embankment and sprinted into the trees.

  The race had begun.

  The tracking instinct of the feliwyrd was legendary, but Abildan had no need of this skill now. From the visions of the oracwyrd, the way to a specific location had been implanted into her head. A sixth sense now steered her towards exactly where her quarry would be, and when.

  It had been the name ‘Amyya’ which surfaced from the future-dreams of the oracwyrd this time. The name belonged to an Ulyyn girl, not yet old enough to have lost her innocence, but destined, at some point in her life, to hinder the machinations of the Wyrd. When considering that Amyya was a princess of the Ulyyn, some would reason that attempting her assassination was nothing short of suicide - and so it was. But assassinate her Abildan would, without question or thought of living to see Mya-Siad again.

  Abildan’s way was easy at first, unhindered, as she ducked beneath branches, vaulted thick roots, and followed paths that were soft underfoot. Uljah thrived with the colours and scents of summer; its land seemed somehow superior to the rest of the Great Forest, as though all unsightly growth and dullness had been swept away.

  Not until Abildan stopped to drink from a stream did she encounter the next stage of the Ulyyn’s resistance. The stream was narrow, its water cool and clear. While Abildan drank from cupped hands, she sensed a slight alteration in the breeze, as though the wind itself had held its breath and then sighed.

  She rolled to one side, springing to her feet, sabre in hand.

  Healthy leaves were falling from the trees as though dying in autumn. They did not reach the ground, however, but swirled and danced in the air, spiralling and pressing together until they formed the shape of a four-armed forest demon. With a sound like wind rushing through the trees, it bounded towards the feliwyrd.

  Abildan spun and slashed the sabre across demon’s midriff. The blade passed effortlessly through the leaves of its body, resealing in the sabre’s wake, causing no damage whatsoever. Surprised and wrong-footed, Abildan stumbled and discovered that the demon’s punch was far more substantial than its body.

  A massive, stone-hard fist struck Abildan in the stomach. Her heightened reflexes allowed her to relax and absorb much of the blow, but the demon was fast and didn’t let up. Blow after blow came at Abildan. She dodged and weaved with preternatural speed, barely managing to avoid the four quick fists that struck at her. When she at last gained room for a counterstrike, she slashed the demon’s face, but it exploded into a storm of leaves that whipped around the feliwyrd, stinging and crushing.

  The storm’s grip tightened, squeezing the air from Abildan’s lungs, and she dropped the sabre. Her cry of pain struggled to pass from a strangled throat. With her last breath, or so it seemed, she managed to bark a dark word of the Wyrd, calling for aid from the blood magic within her.

  With a great sucking sound, the storm of leaves was drawn up into the air as though caught in a whirlwind. Like the angriest of thunder clouds, the mass hung above Abildan, droning. She drew breath and barked a second word of blood magic.

  Every leaf burst int
o quick, white fire.

  Ash drifted like snow and settled upon the forest floor.

  Breathing hard, Abildan snatched up her sabre, cursing herself. Her reserve of blood magic was little enough for the task at hand. There was none spare for getting blindsided like a novice. No more time for mistakes, no more stopping until she found Princess Amyya.

  She cocked her ear.

  In the distance, the baying of a wolf pack filtered through the forest, coming closer. Just as the Wyrd had sent their pet to Uljah, so the Ulyyn had unleashed theirs on her.

  Abildan sheathed her sabre and resumed the hunt.

  The way was not as smooth as before. As she headed deeper into the forest, Abildan could feel the trees pressing in on her, as though the magic of Uljah were a thousand eyes observing her progress, tracking her every step. At least Princess Amyya was not at the heart of Uljah, where the Ulyyn dwelt in an impenetrable fortress of monstrously sized trees.

  There was a tradition in these lands, a rite of passage that all nobility had to undertake in their youth. To survive alone in the wild forest of Uljah, to learn and understand the lore of its magic until it became embedded into the soul, was the only way to prove oneself worthy to a race who predated most others on Earth. Even now, Princess Amyya was taking her rite of passage, proving her worthiness to be the Queen of Uljah. And she was doing so all alone, far from the protection of her people.

  The oracwyrd saw everything.

  Eldritch energy burning rich in her veins, Abildan pushed herself hard, fast, to stay one step ahead of the forest’s defences.

  By now, the baying of the wolf pack had grown close, closer all the time. Abildan reasoned that the Ulyyn had given their dogs unnatural speed that outmatched her own. Her time was getting shorter by the heartbeat, and if she did not reach her prey soon, the teeth of the wolves would be snapping at her heels.

  The forest stirred and grew thick, corralling Abildan into a narrow track where the trees loomed and their branches reached out like clawed fingers. She didn’t slow and drew her sabre as she detected lines of magic growing in radiance just beneath the surface of the path, warm against the soles of her feet.