Crown of Bones

by A. K. Wilder

  “Not that much.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  I’d rather discuss training on Aku, or learn about his warrior, or focus on navigating these enemy lands. Ash clears her throat. The sound is a familiar one. It’s her way of telling me to play nice.

  I sigh. “Ten years ago, when Piper was sixteen, she’d just earned her orange robes.”

  “That’s young.”

  “She’s an excellent healer. Anyway, she was in the hills behind Baiseen, gathering herbs, when a band of Gollnarians cornered her.”

  “They were far from home.”

  “A scouting party.” It occurs to me in this moment that the incident with my father’s dire wolf was one in a string of many. “Piper was badly outnumbered.”

  His brows rise. “What happened?”

  “Samsen, thirteen at the time, was out hunting. He heard the fight and sent his phantom in.”

  “Form?”

  “Golden eagle, talons like grappling hooks. But by the time Samsen reached her, his phantom was pinned under a Gollnar winged demon, and Piper was cornered in the bottom of a ravine, her snake chopped in half, going to ground. Sam refused to let his phantom go to ground. He stayed in phantom perspective. Fought them off. Killed or cut up every last one. By then his phantom wounds were so severe, he nearly bled out.”

  Belair winces, squeezing his shoulder.

  “You’ve had phantom wounds?” I ask, keeping the envy out of my voice, though Brogal says it’s nothing to yearn for, the injuries a savant’s body can incur when the phantom is harmed.

  Belair lets his hand fall. “Hunting accident. Entirely my fault. I wasn’t supposed to have my phantom up, let alone be in his perspective. A wild sow attacked. I didn’t get out of my phantom’s eye-view in time.” He tilts his head to Samsen and Piper, who are a fair way ahead. “So…the healer saved the hero?”

  I nod. “And they’ve been bonded ever since.”

  Belair says nothing, and the silence between us feels awkward. I cough. “Do you have much riding on this journey? A vote at the Summit?” Certainly not the throne in Pandom City, but his father may be higher up than I first thought.

  “There is much I must prove on Aku,” Belair replies cryptically. And with that, he nudges his horse to catch up to Samsen and Piper, leaving me wondering why exactly Belair is really on this journey.

  …

  By late afternoon, everyone’s dripping wet and shivering. Dew beads the horses’ eyelashes and manes, and our leather saddles are soaked and squeaking. Our mounts stumble repeatedly until Belair’s bay falls, spilling him out of the saddle. I raise my hand, calling a halt. “Make camp.”

  Ash is about to protest. “Kaylin—”

  I gesture to the group. “Look at us. We can’t make it a step farther.”

  Belair is with me on this as he feels down his horse’s swollen leg. “Plenty of dead wood for a fire. I bet those husks in that field will burn hot, too.”

  I point my nose to the sky. “Send your eagle up, Samsen. Let’s have a bird’s-eye view. If there are no troops about, we’ll camp here the night and ride into Capper Point at first light.”

  “And if there are troops?” Samsen asks.

  “We head for the woods, fast as we can…”

  13

  Ash

  “Wake up!” The warning booms in my head.

  Startled, I listen to the sea crashing on the rocks below. Nothing else moves, no crickets, no flutter or shuffling from the horses picketed nearby, not even Marcus’s snoring. Is he still on watch? When he took over for me, there hadn’t been a whisper on the road, and I felt safe next to the cheery fire. The flames are all but gone now, though the embers still glow hot, and I sit up, reaching out from under my blanket to grab a log. As I plunk it on the coal bed, my inner voice warns again.

  “Enemies!”

  Where?

  Without answer, I’m grabbed from behind and pulled to my feet. I cut loose a scream to warn the others, but a large, callused hand clamps over my mouth and lips press against my ear. “Speak a word, and I’ll cut your throat.”

  He’s not hard to visualize. Male. Large. Armed.

  His beard scrapes my cheek as I’m assailed with the stench of rum and garlic. It’s impossible to breathe in the crushing hold, but I’m not so stunned that I forget my training. I kick back like a mule, catching his kneecap; he smacks me to the ground and curses while I wail.

  Before I can scramble to my feet, he hauls me toward him again, a blade pressing my jugular. The log catches fire, and the camp is suddenly full of men circling us, their swords raised high. Belair is wrestled down in front of me, also held by a knife. I see Piper from the corner of my eye—a guard on each of her arms. The ground rumbles as she starts to raise her phantom.

  “None of that!” The captor stabs his knife deep into her thigh.

  She cries out into the night. There’s no sign of Samsen or Marcus.

  “What do you want?” I shout as they bind my wrists with rope.

  “Shut up!”

  “You can’t—”

  I don’t see the swing coming until it connects, my head whipping back from the force, my cheek stinging like salt in a cut. My eyes tear up. The blade is back against my throat, preventing me from moving my head and scanning the whole camp. I try to count the attackers as they move in and out of my vision. There are ten in front and an unknown number behind. Some of these men are Captain Nadonis’s crew. Among them, one man roars for silence in Aturnian, and my heart sinks.

  Ride straight to Capper Point. Kaylin’s warning comes back. Did he know this would happen? And that’s all he said?

  “Line ’em up.” I recognize a longshoreman from the pier.

  They drag me forward. Everyone is forced to my side of the fire, including Samsen, who is bound and unconscious. Surely they wouldn’t hog-tie him if he were dead, right? Belair and I lock eyes as they shove him next to me. I’m shoulder to shoulder between the Tangeen and Piper, who is panting on my other side. I want to scream at the savants to raise their phantoms, but we all have knives at our backs, and every few moments, a fist comes down hard on the kidneys or ribs. There’s no way Marcus or Belair can raise their phantoms under these conditions, let alone control them. I finally see Marcus as they drag him forward and push him to his knees. His nose is bleeding, hair falling over his face.

  One of the crew holds up Marcus’s small purse. “That’s all we found in the saddlebags.”

  “Where are the plans?” The leader points a knife at Marcus and rests it under his chin. When Marcus doesn’t speak, the man lifts the blade, forcing Marcus to raise his head. “I know you’re taking battle strategies to those traitors on Aku.”

  “Not true!” I say. “These are savants on their initiation journey.”

  Bright light explodes behind my eyes as I receive another knock on the head, this one from behind. When I can focus again, they have my satchel and are tipping it out on the ground, raking through the scrolls, writing tools, inks, and notes.

  I struggle against the restraints, and the knife presses harder against my throat. Blood drips onto my collar, or maybe it’s sweat. Pressure in my chest builds, a volcano smoking, ready to erupt.

  “These must be it, but they’re not in Aturnian.” The man spits. “Foreign spies!”

  “Bring them here.” The leader indicates next to Marcus. “All except the girls.” The leader laughs at Piper and me.

  A cold chill replaces the heat in my veins. Marcus moans out a feeble “no” and tries to make a move, but his captor rams his jaw with the hilt of his sword. The others are dragged over to Marcus, pushed to their knees, heads bowed. My heart stops beating for a moment because I’ve studied enough history to know an execution line when I see one.

  The leader sneers. “More coin will be in the reward.” He nods at
Marcus. “Off with his head. Nadonis says he’s important, and what easier way to deliver him?”

  Two captors flank Marcus as a young, barefoot man comes out of the shadows. My muscles go rigid, breath trapped in my lungs. I recognize him, through tears, through a heaviness so immense, my body threatens to crumble. He has a long, curved sword in his hand.

  Marcus looks up at me and starts to mouth something.

  They shove his head down, exposing his neck. “Kaylin, no!” I shout, and the knife presses harder against my throat.

  Inside me a storm rises, black and threatening. The ground trembles and I feel the sand slipping away.

  Kaylin raises the wicked sword high over Marcus.

  “No! No! No!” I close my eyes and scream the word, over and over, pressure building until I’m sure my heart will explode. The pain of it shatters me, and I howl, the sound tearing from my body like a caged beast. If the old gods could hear me, I would pray that death had taken me from the path before I reached this awful night.

  Nausea swells my throat as the sword whistles through the air. The high-pitched sound slices me open, and I cry again, eyes squeezed tight. It doesn’t stop the blade, but when I run out of air, there’s an odd moment of silence.

  It’s immediately followed by shouts and weapons clashing.

  “Duck!” my inner voice shouts.

  My eyes fly open as the captor behind me drops his knife and falls face-first to the ground.

  It takes a moment to register that the man lying beside me is headless, neck stump gushing blood so close to the fire, the edges sputter and boil. But the horror can’t be Marcus. He was too far away.

  I take a deep breath and force myself to look across at where Marcus kneeled. His guards are dead, cut clean in half. It seems Kaylin’s blade swung wide of the mark, twice—and it hasn’t stopped swinging yet. He’s taking on all the attackers, one young sailor against a horde of angry men.

  My knees buckle from the relief, and for a moment I am in an eerie bliss, thinking we are saved. That sensation falters when a knife flies by, hitting Marcus square in the chest. Air rushes out of his lungs and he caves in on himself, hands reaching for the hilt where blood spreads like black oil across his robe.

  “No!” I try to reach him, struggling against the bonds cutting into my skin. Piper appears next to me, slicing the ropes. Circulation rushes back into my limbs, and a thousand needles prickle my nerves.

  “Go to him.” Piper nods to Marcus and sweeps up a sword from the ground. “Stop the bleeding.” She’s fighting attackers before the sentence is out.

  I leap to my feet and come face-to-face with Kaylin.

  “Careful, lass.” He winks as he glides by and runs through another of the attackers. “This will take a moment longer.”

  I run toward Marcus. When a marauder leaps in to clamp meaty hands around my neck, I press into the chokehold and drive my knee up into his crotch. He’s down, but another reaches for me. Before I can dodge, Piper’s phantom, lashing like a sea serpent, wraps around his legs and trips him. Fast as lightning, the twin-headed phantom bites both men in the large artery of the thigh. Blood spurts like geysers, spattering my face and arms.

  “Free me!” Belair yells. He’s on his knees, hands tied behind his back.

  Piper cuts him loose, and he takes a deep breath. Instantly the ground rumbles and cracks. I stagger backward, the sand dropping away beneath my feet. Out of the earth come two huge red claws, then a head, body, and tail. The sun leopard leaps free and throws back its head. The roar echoes through the camp, hammering my eardrums. Belair remains on his knees as the feline spins, bringing down an Aturnian who rushes in from behind. The phantom cat shakes the man like a rag and snaps his neck. I swerve out of its way and hurry to Marcus. He’s on his back, eyes closed.

  “Ash.” His voice is strong but breathy. “What’s happening?”

  “We’re winning.” I press his coat down around the edges of the blade, trying to stop the flow.

  “Are you sure?”

  Belair’s cat tears around the headland, slashing at trees, saddles, bodies. It’s out of control, baring saber teeth even at me as it leaps by. The attackers left standing spread out. Kaylin has a sword in each hand and fights them all at once. He’s covered in blood, but I don’t think much is his own. Piper guards Samsen, and Belair, with his sword raised, guards me. “Definitely winning,” I tell Marcus.

  Then one of Nadonis’s men rises behind Piper and strikes the back of her head with a thick log.

  “Piper!”

  The healer falls hard, and her phantom goes to ground.

  I take Marcus’s hands and press them around the knife. “Hold here. Don’t let go.”

  He groans.

  I run to Piper as the sun leopard chases the man into the trees, and then I find a pulse. Our healer’s alive but knocked out cold. I pull off my coat and elevate her head, realizing her leg wound is bleeding through a hasty wrap. Marcus is behind me now. I can’t see how he’s faring.

  Kaylin’s blade whistles through the air. Is he…singing? His face lifts as he dances over bodies, cutting the marauders down. In a blink, only the longshoreman is left standing. The burly man runs at Kaylin, who leaps out of the way, arcing his sword over his head double-handed. When his feet touch down, he turns back to the man. The longshoreman’s expression doesn’t change, even when he drops to his knees and his head slides from his shoulders.

  The camp goes suddenly quiet again, only labored breathing to be heard, mine and Belair’s, and groans from Marcus. My heart gallops inside my chest so loudly, the others can probably hear it, too.

  I look up at Kaylin, speechless.

  Scattered about are the slashed and severed bodies of at least fifteen men. It’s hard to count, as they are in pieces. Piper and Samsen are still unconscious. Belair’s unsteady, his phantom chewing on a boot with the foot in it. Behind me, Marcus coughs, holding the knife that protrudes from his chest.

  Something twists and turns inside my chest as well. Fury at the attack, at us all nearly being killed, and also a sinking pit of helplessness I’ll do anything to avoid. Because if I were savant, this wouldn’t have happened.

  I let my breath out in a rush. It’s not true. Our entire party is savant, except for me, and it didn’t matter. The non-savant bosun’s mate saved us.

  I ball my hands into fists and back away from the rushing emotions, pushing the feelings down. Now’s not the time. “This is your storm?” I ask Kaylin.

  “Aye, lass.” One brow goes up.

  “Then thank you, but your warning was badly understated.”

  His eyes move over me, like he’s checking for injury. Finally, he expels a deep breath. “I wouldn’t let them harm you.”

  The sun leopard crouches, stalking forward by Belair’s side.

  “I’m afraid that’s not good enough,” Belair says between gasps for air as he draws near. “Drop the swords.”

  Kaylin raises his hands but doesn’t let go of the weapons. “I can help you.” He glances around the camp. “Already have, but you need me still.”

  “As delightful as that sounds, I think we can manage from here,” Belair croaks. The cat lashes its tail, sweeping the sandy ground. “I said, drop your swords.”

  “Wait.” I leave Piper’s side to stand between them. “Kaylin’s right. We need his help.”

  Belair doesn’t back down. “They were his crewmates, Ash. He was with them.” But as Belair glares at Kaylin, his leopard’s eyes turn to me, whiskers twitching. Its tail stills, and I get an image in my mind of a cat with a mouse pinned under its paw. I turn to Kaylin, unsure where the vision came from—or which one of us, in this scenario, is the mouse.

  “You can trust me or not, but know this,” Kaylin says. “I’ve risked my life for yours.” His eyes are on me alone. “I cannot go back to the Sea Eagle or any port wit
hout disguise. Nadonis must believe I died with this lot. If I’m spotted, he will know I betrayed him, and there would be no place to hide save the bottom of the sea.”

  “It was Captain Nadonis’s doing?” I ask.

  “He and Levvey there.” Kaylin points his sword at the longshoreman’s headless body. “They thought you were spies.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say.

  “Spies sent by the Magistrate to track black-sailed ships. Keen to report them. To execute them.”

  I want to say that the Magistrate wouldn’t do such a thing, but I stop, realizing it’s exactly something he would do. Then, beside me, there comes a padded thump as Belair buckles to the ground, his phantom melting away.

  It’s my decision now.

  “Trust him,” my inner voice says. “How else to save the others?”

  “Hurry.” I shove wet hair out of my face and go to Marcus. His pulse is strong, pumping blood out of his body and onto the ground at an alarming rate. “Keep pressure around the wound.”

  Kaylin sheaths his blades and kneels by my side. “He needs the healer.”

  My thoughts exactly. I check Samsen and cut his bonds. “Unconscious.” I run to Piper. The knife wound in her leg looks bad. I untie a cloth sword belt from the nearest body and bind her wound.

  “I can wake her,” Kaylin says as I wind up and slap Piper’s face.

  Her eyes fly open on contact and she gasps, hand going to her cheek.

  Kaylin smiles. “Or you can do it.”

  “Piper, how do you feel?” I adjust my coat under her head and check her eyes.

  “Like a bear gnawed off my leg.” She scans the camp. “Samsen?”

  “Still breathing.”

  Unfathomable relief floods her eyes, and she blinks back tears. “And Marcus?”

  “Still bleeding.”

  Piper tries to rise, and I help her to her knees. “Mend yourself first. We all need you strong.”

  With eyes closed, Piper raises her phantom. It shoots out of the ground, larger than I’ve ever seen it. Its long black body winds over Piper. Sand and grass fall from its scales and gently, purposefully, the phantom sinks two sets of fangs into her neck, a head on either side of her throat. Piper’s agonized expression intensifies for an instant, then dissolves into nothing short of bliss. I’m embarrassed to keep watching; it seems so…intimate. The fangs soon retract, and Piper is on her feet, stunned and stumbling, but she goes straight to Marcus, and I follow.