The Bones of Ruin

by Sarah Raughley

  Give ear unto the mariners,

  And they will plainly show

  All the cares and the fears

  When the stormy winds do blow.

  The old cabbie who’d driven her here. “Mary” seemed to relish the sight of Iris’s eyebrows rising, the sting of a revelation realized too late.

  “Let’s try this instead,” she offered.

  Mary grabbed Iris’s forearm and fastened it against her neck.

  “Help!” Mary shrieked at the top of her lungs. Iris tried to pull herself away, but Mary kept her arm pinned to her neck as if she wanted to break her own windpipe. “Help, police! She’s attacking me! Help, I’m being attacked! Help! Police!”

  Another bloodcurdling shriek, and she’d caught the attention of the policemen in the vicinity, who were now closing in on them. Iris panicked as she thought of the ashes in the Crystal Palace. What if someone had seen her go inside?

  “Oh dear, help me, I’m in trouble!!” Mary cried again.

  “Enough, Lucille!” Iris finally yelled, struggling to pull herself out of her grip.

  Lucille grinned. “Henry, you adorable boy, will you search Iris for her tarot card before the police arrive? I’d start with her pocket. Once she’s locked up, she won’t be coming after us.”

  Iris cursed under her breath as the policemen made their way through a shocked crowd. Lucille must have known how this would look in front of the officials: Iris, a brown-skinned African, holding “hostage” a girl who looked like the poster child of cherubic innocence. It was a scheme as brilliant as it was evil.

  Just then the real Mary appeared through the crowd in a frilly pink dress, two ribbons tying her strawberry-blond hair. When she saw herself in Iris’s “vise grip,” she looked at Henry, then at the police, and gauging the situation quickly, turned around to hide her face.

  “Hello? Mr. Whittle! I know you could look at me, Mary White, your beautiful maid, all day, but you must set aside your secret love for me and check our competitor for the damn card.”

  Lucille said the last part through gritted teeth because even as the police approached, Henry couldn’t move. It wasn’t until Lucille screamed Henry’s name that he snapped out of it and pulled the tarot card out of Iris’s pocket.

  Playing the situation as if she’d finally broken free of Iris’s grasp, Lucille barreled toward Henry. “Oh, Mr. Whittle, let us escape from here! Take me away, you handsome boy, you!”

  “Don’t overdo it,” Henry whispered with a scowl as the real Mary ran toward them. He grabbed her by the hand, and the three fled the scene just as the police closed in.

  “Put your hands up, you brute!” one policeman cried, wielding his black club menacingly. A cluster of them with clubs and guns stood before her as onlookers kept their distance, ravenously eating up the scene. Six. Seven. Iris put up her fists, ready to fight them all.

  Then she blinked.

  And suddenly Max was there with her, right in the center of the group, his back to hers.

  “Ma—” She stared, but before she could finish her sentence, two of the policemen were already on the ground, their clubs tossed to the side. “Max, when did—”

  Two more down, one choking on a blow to his neck that came too quick for Iris to see.

  Iris closed her eyes and blurted it out. “When did you get here?”

  By the time she was done with her sentence, each policeman was on the ground, defeated, their clubs scattered on the grass next to their dismantled guns. Sweat dripped off Max’s brow as he breathed deeply and greeted Iris with a smile.

  “What was that?” He wiped his forehead and leaned over. “Didn’t catch what you said.”

  He didn’t look as pale as he had in front of Bellerose’s home, but there was still a pinch of sadness behind his cheeky grin that she couldn’t ignore.

  “Did you bloody see what I just saw?” said one onlooker.

  “He just… so quickly…”

  But the visitors didn’t have time to gossip. Just then a stream of fire shot over their heads in a perfect arc. Screams erupted from the crowds as they gaped at the flames.

  Iris turned back to see Jinn emerging from behind a cluster of visitors with slow, deliberate steps, wiping his mouth. With a deathly serious look, he said, very simply: “Fire.”

  “Fire!” another visitor screamed. “Fire!”

  Everyone began running in every direction as Jinn reached Max and Iris. Iris grabbed both of them by the wrists, relieved and overwhelmed to see the two of them.

  “Are you all right?” Jinn said, immediately checking for wounds.

  “I didn’t need you to come save me,” she said defiantly, though she couldn’t help but relish the feel of their skin in her hands.

  Jinn rolled his eyes. “Right.”

  She expected Max might join in, but his eyes were unfocused, staring at the grass. His bleeding arm was bandaged. In her frazzled state of mind, she could think of nothing else but relief that he’d gone back to Club Uriel and gotten it dressed.

  “Max,” she said, touching his other arm, giving him a jolt of energy. “Are you okay?”

  Max only stared at her.

  “We can talk later.” Jinn grabbed her hand. “It’s bedlam here.”

  “Yes, because of you!” Iris reminded him, almost giddy from the blood rushing either to or from her head; she couldn’t even tell anymore. Her body felt worn, her shattered mind held together through sheer force of will. She didn’t want either of them to let go of her.

  “Come on,” Max said finally, grabbing her other hand.

  “Wait! Look!” Iris pointed toward the Crystal Palace. Mary, Lucille, and Henry were standing a few meters away, their backs to her. “They’re still here. We could get the card back!”

  And what: Win the second round? The tournament? Did it even matter anymore? Something dark inside of her needled her, reminding her of the ashes of a man she’d just murdered. Incinerated from the inside out.

  Win the tournament. Win the tournament… and then what? Iris couldn’t recall.

  “We should try…” She swallowed, suddenly feeling dizzy as she remembered the heat from the man’s body as he burned at her touch. “We should at least—”

  “Damn,” Max breathed. “Damn!” He jumped to his feet, pulling Iris up with him. “We have to go. Now!”

  Because Mary, Lucille, and Henry were looking up at two men who towered over them. And Iris recognized them both.

  Belgium’s boars.

  Jacques had taken one of the axes she’d seen in Bellerose’s dungeon. And then there was Gram. His nearly jaundiced pallor. His stringy gray hair just clinging to his scalp and brushing his shoulders. His large, bloodshot eyes and black lips. His buttoned-up dark gray jacket. But something was different. There were cuts on his face: two long gashes on each cheek.

  “Jacques,” Gram said in a deep, hollow voice that sounded as if he hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. “Jacques…”

  “That voice,” Jinn whispered next to her, his fingers twitching.

  Mary, Lucille, and Henry were quaking in fear. Jacques… Why appear here? Why now? He’d wanted to know the truth, and yet he was still playing the game. Like she was.

  In one hand, Gram held his cigarette. In the other, his top hat, which he placed on his head before saying to his partner: “Jacques.”

  “Yes, I know. They managed to injure you earlier, didn’t they?”

  Lucille’s team?

  “I need to heal. I need to feed…”

  “We do what we must,” said Jacques, lowering his head. Just like Henry. Just like Iris and so many of the other champions. Whether for money, family, truth, or freedom, they were all doing what they felt they had to for the carrot the Committee dangled over their heads.

  Except Gram. Iris had an inkling that Gram just liked to kill.

  It was then that Jacques shook his head and turned his gaze elsewhere, anywhere other than the three frozen in fear in front of him. “I am truly sorry,”
he said. “But I can’t stop it.”

  He sounded sincere.

  And then Gram’s hand was on Henry’s vest. With his pale fingers curling into the fabric, he lifted the boy up with one arm and, with the force of a demon, slammed Henry back onto his knee.

  The ugly, loud crack was so horrific, it stole the air from Iris’s throat. Mary was screaming enough for the both of them, but Lucille hadn’t the chance. As Henry’s motionless body dropped to the ground, Gram’s quick hand reached for Lucille’s fake face and tore it off. Iris stared in utter horror as blood slopped from Lucille’s head, from Gram’s hand, and from the fresh flesh dangling in his dirtied fingers. Soon, Lucille’s body was on the grass at his feet.

  Iris finally began screaming when she saw Gram put the soggy flesh into his mouth.

  38

  GRAM’S BODY ARCHED BACK AT the taste of Lucille’s flesh. Jacques didn’t touch him. He took the Judgment card Henry had been holding instead, then searched the boy’s pockets until he found the Sun card his team had taken from the parlor. But when Jacques found Iris standing there in tears, he motioned with a flick of his head for her to run. She couldn’t. She couldn’t tear herself from the sight of Gram slurping and crunching. As if he’d lost himself in the taste, he stumbled back, writhing, holding his hands to his mouth greedily while the wounds on his face closed without a scar. His power…

  “We have to go,” repeated Max, tugging Iris’s arm. “We have to go now.”

  But she just couldn’t move. Neither could Jinn. Next to her, his brow furrowed, his lips parted, and his feeble voice was just loud enough for her to hear the words “No, it’s not him… is it?”

  If Gram had ever been at Club Uriel, he’d never shown himself. Iris wasn’t even sure which floor he was on. Jinn had only ever seen him at Wilton’s. But each time they crossed paths, Jinn’s suspicious eyes followed the man, trying to place him. It was as if Gram were a monster he’d seen in a penny blood he’d read long ago.

  While Gram was distracted, a terrified Mary fell to her knees and turned Lucille onto her back, grabbing onto her faceless head. Iris stood transfixed as the same bright light she’d seen during the first round danced from her fingers. When she lifted her hands again, Lucille’s true face must have returned, because Mary blocked it from view and whispered to her. Lucille turned around quickly as Mary moved on to Henry, but by then Gram was ready for more.

  “We have to go!” Gripping Iris’s shoulders, Max began to pull her away.

  “No!” Not while Mary was still desperately trying to heal Henry’s broken back. “He’ll kill them!”

  Gram reached for Mary’s head just as a stream of fire erupted from Jinn’s mouth, missing the three on the ground, aimed squarely for Belgium’s boars. The two jumped out of the way, but Jinn’s fire chased them, forcing them to split up. It wasn’t Jacques who Jinn was after. That was clear. He spat out his flames like a dragon until Gram had disappeared behind a statue.

  “Jinn, what are you doing?” Iris linked both her arms around Jinn’s bicep, but he shrugged her off frantically.

  “That man…” Jinn could barely breathe, his mouth still smoking. “That man! I… I think I know him!”

  “Of course, he’s one of the champions!”

  “No!” He shook his head. His hollowed-out expression as he stared at his trembling hands sent a shiver down her spine. “I know him.” And suddenly, his head was in his hands. “No.” He shook his head again. “Was it him? No, I don’t know…”

  Iris had never seen Jinn so frenzied. The cool veneer he kept around him at all times had shattered in an instant upon seeing that horrific ghoul of a man. Patches of fire spread throughout the grounds. It would attract the authorities soon, but how long until they arrived? How long did Iris have to spirit Henry, Lucille, and Mary away from these beasts?

  Through a patch of fire, using his black cloak to shield his face, Gram charged at Jinn, so fast it was like he was gliding across the grass. Jinn froze, his mouth gaping.

  “Is it you?” Iris heard him whisper.

  A long sword launched at Gram’s head. A blade of pure white. Jacques was too quick, maneuvering himself forward and throwing his ax to knock the blade off its trajectory. Both weapons clattered to the ground, the sword shattering into white smoke.

  “I’m sorry. I have to win the tournament. And so I can’t let you kill this man,” Jacques said to the girl who’d emerged from behind the Punch puppet.

  Rin. She weaved around patches of fire, her long braids fluttering behind her.

  And on the other side of the puppet:

  “Bately.” Max’s fists were ready.

  The usually cocky Bately was a shadow of his former self. He looked both traumatized and feral, intent upon revenge. He held his gun in his left hand now because his right was missing three fingers. Iris could tell by the way it was bandaged. Bately glared wildly at Gram.

  “I’ve got you now, you sick bastard,” Bately said. “Now that I tailed you here, I’m going to end your miserable life myself for what you did to me!”

  Just what the hell happened after Iris left for Bellerose’s house?

  Rin tried to summon her sword again, but Jacques reached his ax first. Iris ran toward him, and as he brought his weapon down upon Rin’s head, Iris blocked his blow with her hands on his wrist. Her knees buckled underneath his strength, but it gave Rin the time she needed to grip the hilt of her sword and lunge for him. Jacques flipped back until he stood on the fountain ridge.

  “Why are you here?” Iris asked in her best Fon.

  Rin understood. “We met Gram on the great bridge and fought. He ate the mercenary’s fingers.” Bately. Her expression darkened as she lowered her head, the dark purple of her scarred eye facing her enemy. “Isoke. That white man needs to die. This tournament and its prizes mean nothing to him. I can see it in his eyes. He lives to feed.” Rin scrunched her face in disgust.

  Like the horses’ rotted flesh he ate as a child to survive, according to Jacob. And like…

  Iris almost threw up. Meanwhile, Jacques stood silently on the ridge of the fountain beneath the moon, his ax in hand. Waiting.

  Another stream of fire. The way Jinn was going, all of Penge Peak would be engulfed in flames soon. Gram dodged his flames, his strides long, his expression dark like the devil.

  Amid it all, atop the Crystal Palace, stood Fool—or at least one of him—his black cape fluttering, his face covered with his harlequin mask. The watcher of their misery, documenting their bloody battles, soaking in the mayhem.

  There were only monsters here.

  Bately fired at Jacques, but his left hand was clearly not his dominant. One bullet would have torn through Rin if Max hadn’t appeared behind the two girls just in time, pulling them to the ground.

  “You see this fool I’ve been saddled with,” Rin muttered as she sprang to her knees, keeping her head down as Bately kept firing.

  “Bately!” Max screamed, jumping up. “You bloody bastard, watch your damn aim!”

  Bately had no qualms about aiming his gun right at Max. Max dodged each bullet using his ability, but Bately had known he would. So he let him come, let Max’s anger drive him forward.

  “Max!” Iris struggled to her feet, fearing the worst. “Don’t get close! Cover your ears!”

  But the moment Max was near enough to grab him, Bately whispered something Iris couldn’t hear. Max’s hand froze on the barrel of his gun.

  “Oh no.” Iris squeezed her fists. What had Bately whispered with his charmed tongue?

  The gun was aimed at Max’s chest. She thought Bately would shoot him point-blank, but instead, Bately let go of the handle, giving the gun to Max, who took it obediently.

  “Max?” Iris said again as Max pointed the gun at Jacques and fired while Bately laughed.

  Jacques returned fire, breaking his index finger and shooting out of the bone. The projectile traveled too fast for Iris to see. It pierced through Max’s wrist, causing him to cry ou
t in pain and drop Bately’s gun.

  Just like Adam said in Bellerose’s dungeon, Jacques had the deadly eyes of a sniper. This was business to him. But Jacques didn’t kill him. Max held his wrist, moaning in pain.

  “Kill him, Maxey!” Bately sounded a lot more confident now that he had someone to do his dirty work for him. “Kill him!”

  “No, stop! It’s too dangerous!” Iris screamed, but Max was already running for the fountain, fists at the ready.

  Iris pumped her legs as hard as she could and tackled him to the ground just as Jacques jumped and brought his ax down upon them. Iris had no choice but to block it with her waist as she moved to cover Max, gasping as the blade pierced almost to the bone.

  The sound of her pain snapped Max out of his stupor. Bewildered and horrified, he scooped up Iris and carried her out of harm’s way while Rin leaped into action, dueling with Jacques.

  “Iris!” Max sank to the ground, watching the blood pouring from her wound. “Iris! Look at me! Come on, look at me! Oh God, why did you…?” Breathing heavily, he attempted to keep her head from flopping about. “Look right at me, all right? All right?”

  She could barely open her eyes. “It hurts,” she whimpered. “It hurts…”

  “It’s all right, she can’t die, she can’t die,” Max whispered to himself as if the mantra would keep him sane as he held her.

  But he knew as well as she did; she could still feel pain. She could still quiver from the putrid horror of it.

  “Jinn!” he cried out. “What the hell are you doing? Iris is hurt!”

  Iris’s head flopped to the side helplessly as she watched Jinn swallow his fire immediately and look toward them. In another second, after spraying fire to keep Gram from following, he was running to her.

  Iris’s consciousness flitted between two worlds. Was she on the grass bleeding in Max’s arms? Or was she in a dimly lit room bleeding from a wound of another kind? The sharp pain in her waist. Monsters above her speaking among themselves, making their calculations. Terms she couldn’t understand. Numbers and measurements.