Books & Bone

by Victoria Corva

  Her eyes found Ree in the crowd, and the hair on Ree’s neck rose as all eyes turned toward her. Only Ree’s father didn’t try to catch her eye. He stared at Kylath, his lips twisted, and Ree wondered whether he had intended to mention the Black Oath at all.

  Kylath ignored his hard stare and continued, ‘What do any of you know about the Black —’

  Boom! Dust shook free of the ceiling and showered the denizens. All eyes turned to the black iron doors.

  Boom! They buckled and flung open; a lone, frizzy-haired minion lumbered in, jaw hanging.

  Ree seized Smythe’s hand, her entire body locking up.

  Larry limped forward, his watery yellow eyes sweeping left to right across the room. His skin flaked in the air behind him and his feet slid over each other in an awkward shuffle.

  Larry. Relief flooded her in a rush so powerful it almost hurt. She’d been certain the Lich would lock him up somewhere to keep him from them, but somehow the minion had gotten away.

  Maybe this was bad. Maybe it would bring the Lich back down on them. But now, all she could think was that she was so happy to see the ridiculous minion.

  Smythe squeezed her fingers, eyebrows unpinching as his face eased into an open smile. He released her and got to his feet, scrambling over other denizens and into the aisle. He spread his arms wide. ‘Good to see you again, old chap!’

  Kylath cleared her throat and Ree’s gaze returned to the dais.

  ‘If you have any information regarding breaking the Black Oath, it is imperative that —’

  ‘You come to speak with us privately after the meeting,’ Ree’s father interrupted. Kylath glared at him, her lips peeling back from her teeth. She thought for a moment that she might strike him — and Ree almost couldn’t blame her. She was the youngest and least experienced council member, the only one who had to justify her place to the town, and she had been interrupted too many times already.

  But Ree’s father only gazed back impassively, his shoulders back and his jaw set, a statue that her rage could break against but could not shatter.

  ‘The Black Oath?’ This from one of the young acolytes, a boy with the sides of his head shaved and the rest falling in a greasy hank across his forehead. ‘As in the Black Oath?’

  ‘Yes, the Black Oath.’ Symphona glared at him. ‘Idiot.’

  In the row behind, Ree heard someone murmur, ‘Think I heard of someone who bathed in blood to break the Black Oath once?’

  ‘We’ve all done that,’ a woman whispered back. ‘There’s nothing magical about an old-fashioned blood bath. Works wonders on the skin, though.’

  ‘Ack! Larry!’ Smythe’s strangled cry rose above the susurrus.

  ‘Morrin’s teeth,’ Usther murmured. Her nose wrinkled.

  Smythe and Larry struggled in the aisle, Smythe’s hands on Larry’s face while the minion put all his weight into leaning toward Smythe’s neck with an open mouth. ‘I’m happy to see you too, but this is a little over-enthusiastic!’

  Ree climbed out into the aisle, muttering apologies as she went. Her fingers dipped into the pouch at her side. ‘Larry,’ she said wearily.

  Larry and Smythe together froze. Larry’s eyes rolled toward her, mouth still lolling wide.

  ‘Stop it.’

  Larry’s eyes rolled back to Smythe. He struggled harder.

  Ree sighed and sent a small pinch of herbs to cloud the minion’s face. Larry’s arms sagged and he released Smythe, blinking stupidly ahead.

  Ree pat his shoulder, then pulled Smythe aside to the nearest seats.

  ‘I could have handled it, you know. He just needs a firm hand — and I think I was rather getting the better of him!’

  ‘Of course.’ Ree’s tone was flat. Smythe twiddled his fingers and stared into his lap. Ree felt briefly abashed that she’d upset him, but Kylath was still speaking.

  ‘That concludes our official business. Any further matters can be postponed until the next town meeting at the end of the month. Those who have feuds to settle can submit their grievances through the usual channels. Please inform any denizens you meet who were unable to attend of the new safety measures.’

  Ree and Smythe waited in their seats, with Larry lolling on a chair beside them, until all but a few of the denizens filtered through the black iron doors. Andomerys was the last to pass, nodding to Ree, her usual scowl tinged with concern.

  ‘Not many staying behind.’ Ree’s eyes swept the handful of practitioners ascending the marble steps.

  Usther moved to the row in front of them. She straddled a chair and rested her chin on the back of it so that she faced them. ‘It is the Black Oath,’ she said. ‘If it were easy to break, nobody would bother using it.’ Her tone was breezy, but her shoulders were sharp and there was a downwards tilt to her mouth that spoke of worry.

  ‘Reanima!’ Ree’s mother swept down the aisle toward them.

  Ree stood up in time and clasped her hands behind her back, not meeting her mother’s eyes.

  ‘Good to see you, Arthura,’ Usther said silkily. ‘Not quite too busy for an emergency town meeting regarding your daughter, I see.’

  Ree’s mother levelled a weighted gaze at Usther, but Usther shrugged it off. Her eyes returned to her daughter. ‘Let me see it.’

  ‘Seeing it won’t change anything,’ Ree said wearily.

  Her mother seized her wrist. ‘Let me see it. Oh!’ She pulled up Ree’s sleeve and gasped, taking a step back with her hand to her mouth, eyes wide and staring. The words ‘and so let it be done’ glared, red and angry, against her pale skin. Her hands found Ree’s and held them tightly, a startling affection.

  ‘Your father was right.’ Her dark eyes glistened. ‘We were too lenient with you, let you travel too far unprotected. And now — I’m so sorry, Ree. I’ve failed you, and now —’

  ‘We haven’t failed yet.’ Ree said. Her mother’s words were too much an echo of her own thoughts. If she’d just committed to the Craft as a child, as her father had wanted, how powerful might she be now? Powerful enough to hold off the Lich? Powerful enough to reject the Old King and his cused Oath?

  But Smythe had more raw power than any necromancer she’d yet encountered, and he’d not been able to stop any of this.

  ‘You don’t need to be afraid,’ her mother said. ‘Morrin will welcome you as one of her own. You are a child of her people. My Goddess is wise and powerful. She won’t let —’ she stopped and coughed, and for a moment Ree thought in terror that it might be hiding a sob. Ree’s mother cleared her throat. ‘She won’t let the Oath take the soul of one of her faithful.’

  ‘One of her faithful,’ Usther repeated, and Ree could almost feel her exchange a look with Smythe. Because Smythe had certainly never worshipped Morrin, and as for Ree — well, her mother might be a priestess, but Ree was hardly devoted. She had once expressed to Emberlon a desire for a Goddess of Libraries, but the universe had failed to provide one.

  But her mother was trying to comfort her, and that was something. ‘We have a little time, I think,’ said Ree. ‘And maybe — I don’t know, maybe the beginning of a plan. I’m not dead yet, mother.’

  Her mother nodded, and released Ree’s hands. She stepped back and smoothed her long robes, her face sliding back into its impassive religious mask. ‘Morrin let it be so.’

  The last denizens descended from the dais. Ree’s eyes scoured their faces for any clue, biting her lip. ‘They’re leaving. That seems like a bad sign.’

  Smythe lifted his gaze to meet hers. ‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Emberlon, find the tablet. We’re a smart bunch and he seems like a resourceful chap. We’ll find a way —’

  Usther craned around in her seat. ‘Is that Veritas?’

  Ree looked up at the dais, her heart constricting in her chest. On the dais, encircled by attentive council members, Veritas talked and gesticulated animatedly. As his eyes met hers, his face split into a smug grin.

  Ree fought to keep her breathing even. ‘Do you think there�
�s a chance that he’s forgotten about the book?’

  Grudges and feuds are common among necromancers, especially those living in such close quarters as in Tombtown. Denizens are expected to resolve their disputes privately and without disturbing their neighbours — or the Goddess of Undying, who seems to have a personal interest in the survival of the town.

  If people occasionally disappear when in the midst of such a dispute, the council does not take issue, so long as they disappear quietly and with a minimum of mess.

  ~from A History of Tombtown by Emberlon the Disloyal

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  FAKING IT

  Ree, Smythe, and Usther hovered awkwardly at the edge of the circle of practitioners crowded on the dais, Usther with her nose in the air, Ree with her eyes on the floor, and Smythe beaming around at the gathered faces. The council members stood proud and tall — apart from Bahamet the Eternal, who hunched blankly toward a wall. And in the centre, Veritas stood with a self-satisfied grin, his wild hair hardened into blood-crusted spikes, his mask and goggles hanging around his neck.

  ‘I have done quite the research into curses and blood binding,’ Veritas said. Leather squeaked as he crossed his heavy-gloved arms. ‘Being, as I am, the only practitioner with the vision to explore the edges of experimental Craft, it is only natural that I have tested the limits of blood binding curses such as the Oath.’

  ‘Such as the Oath,’ Igneus echoed.

  Ree raised her eyebrows. ‘So … not the actual Black Oath then.’

  Veritas sniffed. ‘Well obviously not the actual Black Oath since the cost of failure is quite high and it’s said to be unbreakable —’

  ‘What a visionary you are,’ said Usther. ‘Truly groundbreaking to shy away from any piece of magic that frightens you.’

  ‘— but I have looked into the breaking of similar curses and the strategy is quite clear.’ His beady eyes gleamed. ‘Shall I tell you?’

  Kylath pursed her lips. ‘I find this all rather tedious. I trust you can handle the matter without assistance, Igneus?’ She nodded to him and Ree’s father inclined his head in response. She swept from the room — and, after a moment’s hesitation, the rest of the council followed suit.

  So now it was Ree, Usther, Smythe, and Ree’s parents ranged around Veritas. The experimental necromancer rubbed his hands together with a squeaking of leather. His ratty gaze tracked the council members down the steps. He seemed deflated by their absence.

  ‘Tedious?’ he said quietly, then stood straighter. It did not quite level his hunched shoulders. ‘So. The solution, then.’ He sighed dramatically. ‘It has come to me through years of careful research and experimentation. I don’t expect you to grasp the finer details of such a subtle magic, but I shall do my best to distill my knowledge into a form more suited to your limited cognitive resources. You see —’

  ‘On with it, Veritas.’

  Ree glanced at her father; though his tone was mild, his eyes were anything but. He also managed to stand a lot straighter than Veritas — but then, while Veritas was hunched and craven, her father was tall and brittle. She’d inherited that brittleness — the poker-rod spine, the sharp, awkward movements. It was probably at least part of why Smythe had mistaken her for a walking corpse.

  Veritas squeaked his gloves together again. ‘Of course.’ His tone was disgruntled. ‘Well, then I shall say that all of my research led me to the conclusion that the Oath should be approached as a legal contract, in which the intent is significant but does not supercede the specific language and structure of the Oath. Ha! Do you see?’

  Ree shook her head slightly. She looked around: Usther was pursing her lips in what Ree was certain was an expression of restrained violence; Ree’s mother’s eyes were closed in prayer; Ree’s father’s expression was hard but thoughtful; Smythe nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Yes, of course!’ Smythe said at the same time that Usther said, ‘Get to the point, you hideous buffoon.’

  Veritas looked from one to the other. ‘Well, I can hardly make it simpler. The way to avoid the consequences of a Black Oath is to comply with the specific, verbalised conditions of the Oath.’

  Ree pinched her nose between her fingers. ‘You’re saying that the best way to break the Oath is to keep the Oath?’

  Veritas flapped his hands. ‘Exactly!’ He lowered his hands. ‘Wait … not exactly. Or at least, exactly, but not in keeping with the intent.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Ingenius, isn’t it?’

  ‘Quite!’ Smythe leaned forward, face lit with interest. ‘But how did you come to the conclusion?’

  ‘With each of my subjects, I cast the same blood binding curse, with the same intent but different specific language. In all cases, the subjects who broke the contract triggered the curse, as did those who failed to comply. But! On experimentation with later subjects, it became clear that the specific language could lead to different fulfillment criteria — in spite of the intent of each curse being the same. In those cases, the curse was triggered but not to full effect — which meant that the consequences could be avoided to a degree. My final subjects made it clear that the intent of the subject also affected the outcome of the results — and specifically, that, unless a failure condition was specified, intent could supercede failure. Also relevant is timeline. All curses take no more than seven days to take effect if the conditions are not met.’

  At this point, Ree’s head was spinning. She could almost grasp what Veritas was saying, but that there was too much information for her to easily parse. Not to mention, she was a little distracted by the thought of Veritas’ subjects. Just how many people had he killed over the course of his research?

  Seven days. And they had already used … what? Three of them?

  It was an awfully short time in which to break a curse. Even shorter in which to live a life.

  Smythe started to speak, but Usther cut him off. ‘I think you’re being unnecessarily dense, but I’d like to put that aside a moment. Where could you possibly find so many living subjects?’

  Veritas glanced at Ree’s father. ‘I didn’t break any rules — I didn’t go raiding the upworld, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I used wild caught adventurers, as is my right — I have plenty of traps about my tower, and I bait them well with treasure.’ He sniffed and crossed his arms. ‘It’s all completely above board.’

  ‘The curse,’ said Ree’s father. ‘You’re saying there’s a way around it?’

  ‘He’s saying the exact opposite,’ said Smythe.

  Ree rubbed her eyes tiredly. ‘He’s saying that the only way to avoid the consequences of the curse is to comply with the curse.’

  Veritas clenched his fists at his sides. ‘Festering rats! Must you all be so obtuse? I’m saying you only need to fulfill the specifics of the curse. I’m saying you can fake it.’

  ‘Fake it.’ Usther’s nostrils flared, like a bull about to charge. ‘That’s your ingenius solution, which you wasted many perfectly useful living subjects to discover.’

  ‘Yes!’ Veritas squinted his eyes at her. ‘Obviously! It’s not like I could find a way to break the Black Oath, is it? It’s unbreakable.’

  ‘Mm.’ Usther’s lips were disappearing and her eyes started to flash. ‘Mm-hmm.’

  ‘You said that you had information on how to break the curse.’ Ree’s father seemed almost to grow in size as he looked down at the other necromancer.

  ‘This is even better than breaking the curse!’ Veritas insisted. Then his lips twisted and he cocked his head to one side. ‘Well. Perhaps not. But I didn’t see anyone else volunteering the information.’ He sniffed. ‘By rights, I should be demanding barter for this information.’

  Ree’s mother opened her eyes into narrow slits. ‘Morrin will weigh the value of your contribution.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not very interested in a reward that can only be redeemed after I’m dead.’

  ‘If there is any worth to your theory at all, I will be in your debt.’ Ree’s father c
rossed his arms.

  Veritas looked, briefly, like he wasn’t sure whether that was something he wanted after all.

  There was a touch at Ree’s elbow; she looked up into Smythe’s face. His lips quirked in a half-smile and he drew her aside.

  ‘Not a lot of help from that quarter.’ Ree nodded toward Veritas, who stared churlishly at his boots while Ree’s mother started a lecture on immortal rewards.

  ‘On the contrary, Veritas has given us every advantage.’ Smythe’s stare was hot on her face. Ree wanted to hide from it, but found she couldn’t look away. ‘Do you remember the words of the Oath?’

  Ree dipped her head. ‘We swore to complete the ritual.’

  Smythe’s other hand came up, so that his touch was light on both of her forearms. ‘Not what he wanted; the words he used.’

  Ree breathed in and let the memory take her. It had been haunting her ever since she’d let the words slip from her mouth. She could remember the strange intensity of the Old King, the weight of his power and the mantle of authority that rested on him. She remembered Wylandriah in the background, eyes bleak under the stripe of blue paint. ‘This you must swear,’ she whispered, opening her eyes ‘on blood and death and soul: that you will undertake the Great Resurrection,’ Smythe’s grip tightened on her arms ‘and thereby restore my legacy.’

  Smythe nodded, then nodded again. His hands slid from her arms to dangle at his sides. ‘That’s how I remember it as well — that’s good, that means we have the wording right.’

  But Ree could already feel the teeth of the trap closing in around her. ‘But that’s no good — it’s too specific!’

  Smythe ran a hand through his curls. ‘We only swore that we would undertake the ritual — not that we would complete it.’ He smiled to one side. ‘That is, I believe, what men of law refer to as a “loophole”.’

  ‘We swore that we would “thereby restore his legacy”.’ Ree’s chest was growing tight. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision. ‘There’s no way out.’