Nothing except his weighty gaze and powerful manner. Emberlon had arrived ten years ago surrounded by rumours — rumours only exacerbated by his decision to go by the name Emberlon the Disloyal. Ree watched him sidelong as they walked. She still wasn’t sure whether she believed them.
As they crossed the town square, some of the acolytes called to Ree. ‘Come help — we’ve got it twitching! One more practitioner and we’ll have it dancing next!’ A cloth-wrapped corpse lay at their feet.
But Ree only pulled her hood higher and shook her head, scurrying to keep up with Emberlon’s long-legged stride. Their magic fizzed at the edges of her senses, cold and faint. She glanced at Emberlon, who quickly looked away.
Everyone wanted Ree to learn the Craft. Everyone except Andomerys and Emberlon, at least, which was one of many reasons she preferred their company. Emberlon was a necromancer himself, but more of a dabbler than anything. Ree suspected he only kept up the practice to ensure his place in the town.
It didn’t take them long to get to the archives. When they got to the stone doors, Ree drew the heavy iron key from around her neck and unlocked it with a twist. Together, she and Emberlon shouldered the door open and then heaved it closed behind them.
What must once have been a storage room had been repurposed, and now every drab stone wall was lined with filing cabinets, and stacks of books were scattered about, waiting to be processed and returned by Emberlon or Ree.
Emberlon strode over to the first cabinet and started flicking through index cards. ‘You’re being meek.’
Ree dragged a step ladder to the far end of the room. ‘I’m always quiet.’
‘Quiet, yes. Meek?’ Emberlon shook his head.
Ree’s gaze flicked to him and then away. She didn’t want to talk about her refusal to learn the Craft, or the pressure the young acolytes put on her. Sometimes, they would invite her to join them, knowing she would refuse. Other times, they would harass her, laughing, as she came into or out of town.
But there were more important things to think about. She slid a drawer open and started flicking through the records. ‘I have a lot on my mind.’
Emberlon withdrew an index card and flipped it to examine the back. ‘Far be it from me to pry into another’s secrets. Just … take care, Ree. Some secrets can eat you up inside.’
His voice had taken on the dull tone it always did when he considered his past, but Ree knew better than to try to comfort him. She merely nodded and kept searching the records.
She found a lot of records for healing books. Most of them seemed to be in the small Iyadi library near the surface, but there were plenty scattered across the other libraries of the crypt. References to curses or souls were harder to find when crossed with healing. She kept coming across necromantic texts, but they would be no use to Andomerys.
It might take her hours to find the record if she carried on like this. She needed a way to narrow down her search. Andomerys had said that soul healing was ancient magic. Maybe, if Ree only searched records for books published pre-third era …
She searched in an ever-tightening spiral of specificity, telling herself that such books had to exist — she simply wasn’t searching correctly. She tried not to think that there was a fine line between history and myth. That maybe the kind of healing she was looking for had never existed. And all the while, time was rolling on like the iris of a suneye. How long would Andomerys keep Smythe alive without Ree to vouch for him?
She also tried not to think about all the libraries they had yet to index. Any one of them might hold the book she needed. And every denizen knew that the Lich had its own library, and had taken its pick of the other libraries when creating it.
‘Ree?’ Emberlon held a card of yellowing parchment aloft. ‘I think I’ve found your book.’
Ree accepted the index card. ‘Astaravinarad,’ she read. She bit her lip. ‘The Book of Body of Light?’
‘A good translation,’ Emberlon said approvingly. ‘I read it as The Book of the Lightness in Body. If you look at its categories and description, it’s a healing book and not a necromantic text, but it’s concerned with spirit and soul, which are normally necromantic domains.’ He paused. ‘It’s written in iyad-anar, which I know you aren’t as familiar with, but Andomerys undoubtedly will be. Most healing texts come from Iyada.’ He named the nomadic culture from the Long Plains. Necromancers from that part of the upworld tended to keep (even more) to themselves.
She turned over the card in her hands, searching its location. She frowned. ‘It’s been overdue for six months.’
Emberlon inclined his head. ‘To Veritas.’
Ree bit her lip and moved to the borrower records. It wasn’t uncommon for denizens to push their luck with the archivists, and a lot of Ree’s work involved tracking down distant necromancers and convincing them to give their books back.
She slid a drawer open and withdrew a stack of index cards that crackled under her touch, then turned and sat on the footstool to consider them.
Varric … Vectora … Veritas. His name was inscribed in Emberlon’s tidy hand, the writing compact, as if he feared taking up too much space. ‘Astorfell Tower, northern tunnels,’ Ree murmured. Veritas had chosen a home as far from the central mausoleum as it was possible to get. She had a vague memory of the necromancer; stoop-shouldered but proud, and laden with hand-spelled talismans and rings.
She checked his borrowing history, and sure enough, Astaravinarad was his most recent book, and it didn’t contain a return date.
It wasn’t impossible that he’d lost the book. A crypt was not a safe place even for a necromancer, and sometimes things got left behind or trampled by a horde, or gnawed by Larry. But three years of working in the archives with Emberlon had taught Ree that it was far more likely that Veritas simply didn’t want to return it. Necromancers were greedy by nature, and were more than willing to try their luck at keeping a useful title to themselves.
It would be a long and dangerous journey, and she had no guarantee that this book would contain the magic Andomerys needed. She ought to stay here, or track down a less promising book closer to home. There had to be limits on how far you were willing to go to help someone — especially someone you didn’t know.
And yet …
She thought of his awkward introduction, of his appearance when the Lich had her mind-snared. She thought about whether she wanted to be the kind of person who let kind people die.
Ree took a map from the rack on the right-hand wall and tucked it into her belt. ‘If I’m not back by the end of the week, scry for me.’
Emberlon fixed her in a solemn gaze. ‘I always do.’
Ree drew a shuddering breath. She checked her hood was properly pinned to her hair, hefted her herb pouch to make sure she had enough for a couple days, and squeezed back through the door and out into the town.
She’d made it to the Northern passage before a slim, dark figure stepped into her path. ‘And I suppose you’re off on some grand adventure again?’ the girl drawled. Her short black hair was slicked back against her head, making her long forehead all the more pronounced. Her eyes were almost colourless, stark against her dark skin, and her cheeks were sharp and hollow.
‘Usther,’ Ree greeted her warily, taking a half-step back. Usther was a few years older than Ree, and was more impressive than beautiful, all sharp angles and sharper words.
Ree could rarely decide whether she was happy to see Usther or not, but she certainly didn’t want to see her while she was harbouring an upworlder with Andomerys. If Usther could be counted on for anything, it was to look out for herself. And turning in Smythe could get her the council’s favour.
‘There’s no need to be defensive, I’m just saying hello. Is that so terrible?’
Ree decided it was better not to answer. Usther clucked her tongue and put her head to one side, bird-like. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m collecting a late return.’
‘Which book?’
&nbs
p; Ree shifted her weight from foot to foot, then said, ‘Astaravinarad.’
Usther’s eyes widened. ‘That sounds like it’s in iyad-anar. Thinking of learning healing, are you? Oh, your daddy will be so disappointed.’
Ree made a show of adjusting her satchel on her shoulder and brushed past the older girl. ‘Well, it’s a long trip, so if you don’t mind —’
Usther fell into step beside her. ‘Healing magic.’ The word rolled from her mouth, loose with disdain. ‘I knew you had to dispense with this “magicless” nonsense soon and make a choice, I just thought you’d make the only reasonable choice and learn the Craft.’
Ree gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to have to lie about what she needed an ancient healing text for — and it would be a very bad idea to tell Usther the truth. Likely, she assumed Ree was getting it for her mother or Andomerys and was just taunting Ree for her own amusement.
But oh, how Ree burned to tell her the magic she was really studying. Every time Usther spoke down to her, she could feel a retort hot on her tongue. But nobody could know until she had proven it was possible. Until she could show them all what she was capable of.
She didn’t think she could bear to have Usther ridicule her dreams.
‘Ghosts and gods, you’d have to touch people. Can you imagine anything more foul?’ Usther, who was regularly up to her elbows in entrails, shuddered at her own words. She glanced at Ree, who kept her face carefully blank.
‘Honestly,’ she continued, ‘I’d always thought you were more likely to learn therianthropy than healing.’ She laughed. ‘Gods, that’s just the kind of thing you would do. Poring over dusty books trying to learn how to turn into a rat or something. Chasing after fairytales rather than learning good, practical Craft.’ She snorted.
Ree looked away very deliberately. Inside, she went cold. For one frozen moment, her thoughts fixated on her research journal, tucked lovingly into her pack.
But Usther didn’t know.
‘Look.’ Ree cut her eyes at the older girl, not quite trusting herself to give a full glare. ‘I have quite a lot of travel to do, so if you don’t mind —’
Usther grabbed Ree’s wrist with a bird-claw hand. ‘You’re hiding something.’
So many things that it was starting to feel crowded in her head.
Ree wrenched free. ‘Everyone here is hiding something.’
‘Not you.’ Her pale eyes burned into Ree’s. ‘Never you. If I can count on you for anything, it’s to be utterly unremarkable. And you won’t even look at me right now. So what exactly is this all about?’
Unremarkable. She hated the word, the way it dropped in her stomach like a stone in a still pool. That word was every dismissive gaze, every shun and every disregard.
People thought that she was something less. But she knew, with a bitterness that burned her throat and set fire to her chest, that she would be more than they could ever imagine.
Ree turned her back on Usther. ‘You don’t know anything about me.’
But Usther was not to be left behind.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m coming with you. We are friends after all.’
‘Only in the sense that we dislike each other less than we dislike the others,’ said Ree. The two were united in their unwillingness to join the teen cabal with the other acolytes — Ree because she had no desire to practice the Craft, Usther because she had no desire to share her power with others.
Usther shrugged a bony shoulder. ‘Isn’t that what true friendship is?’
Ree didn’t have any idea what true friendship was. Her relationship with Usther was largely based on Usther lounging around insulting Ree while Ree carried out study, or demanding that Ree dropped whatever she was doing to track down a book Usther required. Friendship seemed a strong word for that.
Lack of response left Usther undeterred. ‘Don’t be rude. If I’m to come with you anyway, don’t you think you might as well tell me where you’re going?’
Ree continued to ignore her, but Usther walked with her, keeping up with the ease of a long stride. Ree ran through problems in her head. If Usther found out about Smythe, she would be quick to turn him in to the council — or even kill him herself. Usther was nothing if not ambitious, and killing Smythe would earn her favour with the most powerful necromancers in town.
But right now, Ree just needed to collect the book. With a practitioner with her, she could travel more directly, as she wouldn’t have to avoid the more powerful undead. And Usther might be useful in negotiating the return of the book. Necromancers were not usually keen on sharing ...
‘I’m going to Astorfell Tower,’ she said at length. She watched Usther sidelong as they climbed a flight of stairs.
Usther raised an eyebrow. ‘Astorfell … let me think … that’s not old Uzumir, is it? I thought he gave up and died.’
‘No, he just retired to research immortality. It’s Veritas.’
‘Veritas.’ Usther tapped her lips thoughtfully, but whatever she thought about the necromancer, she didn’t say.
Usther didn’t have many friends among the denizens — just Ree, really, and that was more of a tenuous tolerance than anything. But she kept close tabs on the other necromancers and their studies — all the better to swoop in and claim it for her own if it proved useful. Maybe it was that urge to spy on her fellow practitioners that kept her following Ree, rather than turn back when faced with a long journey, as Ree had expected her to.
The journey with Usther was unpleasant but safer than Ree was used to. Though Usther complained constantly and never missed an opportunity to mock Ree if she tripped or let an undead get a grip on her, she was a competent necromancer and there was very little they encountered that Usther couldn’t turn aside with a sneer and an exertion of will.
‘So how far is Astorfell, exactly?’ She followed Ree up onto a narrow stone path that skirted one of the bone pits where the remains of slaves were dumped. There was a malevolent energy about the place, and few of the necromancers chose to harvest there. ‘There are some evils that linger after death,’ her father had warned her once. ‘You must respect their afterlife, and be wary of treading too close to them. They are not friendly minions, like Larry or the town servants.’
The crypt was full of places like this. Places where people had died in their masses, and their bodies had been tossed aside. No embalming or burial rites for them; no special tombs or coffins or shelves, no treasures or silks or ceremonies. Though Tombtown was a sprawling hodgepodge of tombs and catacombs built by many different cultures spanning hundreds of years, there were enough places like this bone pit to make it clear that it had rarely been built by willing hands.
Ree didn’t mind living among the restless dead. It was the memory of those tortured living that gave her pause.
She looked down in the pit, her stomach clenching. All was still below, just a mess of bones and debris, but it radiated a sickening energy that she would be glad to leave behind.
The path was too narrow to tread normally. Ree put her back to the wall and sidestepped along; her toes slightly overlapped the edge of the path, over-hanging the pit below. ‘It’ll take us the rest of the day to get there, and maybe half the next. I don’t know the northern tunnels very well.’
‘That’s what maps are for.’
Ree clamped down on her irritation; it was enough work focusing on traversing this ridiculous path. ‘I have a map. I make the maps —’
The stone beneath her foot gave out and she lurched sickeningly downward. Her hands scrabbled for purchase on the wall, but she’d lost her balance and was leaning ever outward.
‘Morrin’s teeth!’ Usther seized Ree’s arm and yanked her back onto the path. Ree gulped down air and clutched the older girl. The fall might not have killed her, but the idea of being trapped in a bone pit, hours from home …
And if there really was something in there — a greater dead, roused by the memory of violence, or a skeleton hidden among the bones —
her mother's death herbs would not protect her. Only a necromancer could fight such restless beings, and Ree was not a necromancer.
‘Ree.’ Usther turned Ree’s head, meeting Ree’s eyes with her colourless ones. ‘You’re fine. It was only a stumble. Right? You’re fine.’
Ree stared at her for a moment, then nodded. Her mouth was dry; she cleared her throat. ‘I’m fine.’ The words sounded dubious to her own ears.
They shuffled the rest of the way, Ree’s breath balling painfully in her chest. Usther kept close, pale eyes darting to Ree and away again.
Safe on the other side, the tension in Ree’s chest eased in a sickly trickle. Usther’s mouth was pinched; Ree’s eyes were on the floor.
‘Thank you.’ Ree spoke past a lump in her throat. She thought again of the bone pit, of the way it seemed to pulse with rage and bitterness.
Usther shrugged. ‘You’re more useful alive. You’d make a very poor minion.’
Another few moments passed with just the sound of Ree panting and Usther tapping her foot. At length, Usther said, ‘Since we’re having a moment, and I saved you from a torturous undeath ... I don’t suppose you’d consider “lending” me a copy of A Blackfort Affair, you know … off the record.’
Ree glared at her.
Usther sniffed and smoothed her dark hair. ‘Some people are born ungrateful.’
But that wasn’t the case at all. Ree reflected uneasily that she owed her life now to two people in as many days. Her thoughts brushed against Smythe, lying still and cursed on Andomerys’ table, and she squared her shoulders. She would repay Smythe in kind; Usther, she would deal with later.
Books & Bone Page 4
