The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone)

by Craig A. Munro

  Skeg paced back and forth in his shop after the little girl had taken the man in the back room. He traded in some dark things, being one of the only merchants in the city who catered to unlicensed mages. He had also seen his share of corpses and even one or two people killed in front of him. But the child treating the man she carried around like nothing more than meat, and the intent to butcher him like an animal, left him unnerved to say the least. He did not judge his customers. He wouldn’t have survived long if he had. But what was stopping the girl from doing the same to him? She said she didn’t want to be noticed. Maybe that would be enough to keep him safe. His own feeble talent was nothing compared to hers. He could barely move a cup of water across a table, much less float around a grown man with barely a thought. He’d never turned on a customer before, but he might have to send a note to the Night Guard about this one.

  An interminable wait later, the girl walked back out. She had the orb clutched tightly in one hand. Skeg could see a spark moving around inside it. There wasn’t a drop of blood on her.

  “Mister Skeg?” she called, the voice now that of a child. “We’re done. We left things as neat as we could. You can keep his clothes and his purse.” Skeg nodded and walked them out. It was almost an hour before he worked up the nerve to cross through the curtain. He gaped at what he saw. The body had been left floating above the basin. Its skin had been removed in a single ragged piece and was folded neatly next to the man’s clothing. Not a drop of blood had been spilled outside the basin. Skeg shivered and got to work. He’d have little trouble selling the dead man to one of the less official cults in the city or to any one of a dozen aspiring necromancers, but he could only guess how long it would be till the buyers would come to collect. He’d have to take him down to the cold cellar, but how was he going to get him down?

  Outside in the empty alley, Zuly lifted up the sphere and watched the spark dance around inside it. Look at it, Nial! Isn’t it pretty? Nial traced a finger across the sphere following the light.

  “It’s very pretty.”

  Once I have time to carve and enchant the stone, we can draw on its power. Each soul we claim will make us stronger. Nial could feel the hunger in Zuly. It had faded since they joined and was scarcely comparable to what she had felt from Zuly’s memories of before, but still it gnawed at her.

  “So we have to find another bad man?”

  Any souls will do, my sweet Nial. But for you, we will only hunt the wicked. People like that man come to the slums to hurt people no one cares about. The city guards don’t come to the Muds unless they have to, and people disappear around here every day. We can turn their game on them.

  Nial considered silently for a moment “All right, Zuly. We can go out again. But not until next week and only if we’ve finished our chores.”

  Oh, thank you, Nial! I hoped you’d understand! The happy little girl skipped back home smiling, carrying a man’s soul like a firefly dancing in a jar.

  CHAPTER 2

  Salt walked through the dock district like he owned the place. Every time he returned to Darien City, the great capital of Bialta, after another stint at sea, he felt like the world was his. He was free to do as he pleased, and the coins in his pocket were enough to see him well fed and housed for a month. The stench from the vomit and less identifiable wastes clogging the gutters of the port streets was simply a welcome break from the different stinks and cramped quarters of the merchant ship’s hold.

  The port was a riot of colors and smells. As one of the largest port cities in the North as well as the seat of the Arcanum—Bialta’s famed school of magic—Darien attracted a dizzying assortment of visitors from all over the known world. Salt heard dozens of languages being spoken and walked around the usual profusion of beggars without stopping.

  With luck I might not have to ship out again for a week. Not that he was really worried. He had a good reputation with the city’s captains. It never took him more than a day or two to find work again. He worked hard and rarely let drink interfere with his duties or his life. His weakness was soft company in his bed. He knew from experience that the ladies in the dockside brothels could empty his pockets in a matter of hours given half the chance. And letting them do so was certainly tempting after nearly four months at sea.

  No. I need to try and make my money last a little this time. I really need some new clothes and a room at the very least before I spend anything else. Determined, Salt passed the cheap taverns and brothels where most of his shipmates were happily being relieved of their wages.

  He walked past a particularly wretched-looking hole called the Empty Barrel. A drunkard burst out of the place yelling something unintelligible and collided with Salt. Salt reached down to make sure his coins were still in his pocket. The man bit back an angry outburst when he looked up at Salt’s imposing frame. He stood nearly a head taller than the drunk, and his broad body was hardened by long months at sea. His rough wiry red beard and ragged hair gave him a wild appearance.

  He growled down at the smaller man until a woman walked past, her mesmerizing blue-green eyes interrupting his thoughts. He nearly tripped over a heap of empty crates as he watched her pass by. With a curse he pushed the drunkard aside and looked back at her, but the woman was just disappearing into a side street. He was sure he had heard her laugh as he stumbled.

  His good intentions quickly forgotten, Salt set off after her through a maze of filth-ridden streets and alleyways, always just catching sight of her gray cloak disappearing around the next corner. Each time, he thought he heard the sound of soft laughter.

  Salt’s blood was up. He was jogging now, a wide grin on his face, eager to catch this strange beauty who wanted to play with him. His smile widened when he jumped around a corner, certain that he had finally caught her in a dead-end alley. He was half right—it was a dead end. But the woman wasn’t there. The alley was dark, but unquestionably empty. He looked down at the moldy stacks of junk and a dead rat, wondering where she could possibly have gone.

  “How in all the hells . . . ,” he cursed under his breath. He turned away and almost collided with her. She was standing directly behind him, hands on her hips, a smile on her lips.

  “Hi, sailor. Were you following me?” Salt couldn’t answer her just yet. She smelled wonderful, even in this stink pit of an alley. A subtle fragrance that made him think of cookies and soft soap. Nothing at all like the chokingly sweet scents the brothels girls wore. Her gray cloak was certainly well made. Her skin was pale and clear, her teeth perfect. Her dark-brown hair was pulled back from her face, most of it hidden beneath her hood.

  Shaking himself, he stammered, “. . . Er, y-y-yes, I was . . .” He felt horribly unsure of himself now—a child in front of this beautiful woman.

  “Well? Why were you following me, sailor boy?” The word boy stung him into action. He wrapped his arms around her. His mouth moved to hers. Her reaction was all that he’d hoped for and more. Her soft lips opened to him and her tongue met his. Her mouth was so sweet he never wanted the kiss to end. Her body melted into his, her soft curves pressed up against his whole body. His mind was spinning, his blood on fire.

  “Come with me,” she whispered, her breath hot on his ear. “I have a room nearby.”

  All Salt could do was grunt his agreement. He wasn’t thinking about the rest of the month anymore, or even his next meal. She quickly led him to a worn door with peeling green paint, little different from any other in these back alleys. She pushed it open. Stumbling inside, Salt barely kept himself from gawking at what he saw. The peeling paint ended at the door frame. The inside was freshly whitewashed. Red and white flowers were set in large clay vases about the single room. Almost the entire space was taken up by a massive feather bed, the likes of which Salt had never even dreamed of sleeping in. The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp set on a small table next to the bed. The mystery woman wasted no time, pushing Salt onto the bed and dropping her cloak. She wore nothing underneath. She stood there for a moment, allo
wing him to admire the perfection of her body, before throwing herself on top of him.

  What followed was the most passionate, most intense, and by far the most amazing sexual encounter Salt had ever dreamed of. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he dropped into an exhausted sleep, blissfully content in the wonderfully soft bed with the beautiful stranger next to him.

  Salt opened his eyes at the feel of a light slap on his face. The mysterious woman was straddling his hips. His arms and legs had been expertly tied to the four bedposts, and the lamp had been lit again. At first he thought this might be another game—he was tied down naked, and she was still naked too. Then he saw the knife in her hand.

  “Awake yet, lover?” She slapped him again, harder this time. She slowly ran the jagged edge of the knife across the skin of his chest. “I want you to be fully awake and aware. I wouldn’t want you to miss a second of what’s coming. You fulfilled your first task admirably. Now we’ll see how you are at satisfying a darker need within me.”

  Salt began to pull against the ropes again; fear and helplessness were taking over.

  “Oh, don’t fight it, my sweet sailor. You gave me great pleasure. Your body is unexpectedly clean and healthy, and your spirit is strong indeed. I am not only going to kill you and feed on your flesh—though that is part of it, I admit; I also am sacrificing you to my mistress, She Who Feeds.”

  Salt began to struggle in earnest now. “Let me go! You crazy bitch! You can’t do this!”

  “Now now,” she said, easily keeping her place on top of him. “You said last night that the joy you found in my arms was worth any price. I am exacting that price. I will feast on your flesh and send your soul to my mistress. You will serve as her consort for the coming year. You will sire a new clutch of eggs for her just as you have sired a new child within me. You will be granted a full year of ecstasy in her realm before she consumes your soul. Laying a full clutch of eggs will leave her weakened and you can’t blame her for being hungry after all.” She grinned, enjoying his panic. Without further warning she drew the blade down his chest along his sternum. Salt screamed and struggled even harder. His wrists and ankles were bleeding as freely as his chest, staining the white bed linens crimson. The priestess just smiled and leaned down to lick the blood that ran down to his stomach.

  The door exploded off its hinges, smashing to splinters against the opposite wall.

  “You won’t escape this time, witch!” came a shout from outside. A crossbow bolt took her in the side of the neck. She didn’t scream as the bolt hit her. Cracks radiated out across her skin from where it had pierced her skin, grubs and maggots spilling out. The priestess howled in fury. She raised the blade, intent on finishing off Salt. Instead, she fell apart, her once smooth skin dissolving in an instant into a revolting mass of insects. Salt screamed in disgust as the mess skittered, crawled, and slithered across his body, each small creature fleeing.

  A grizzled-looking city guardsman rushed into the room. A bulky, middle-aged woman in stained dark-blue robes was right on his heels. A wall of fire sealed the doorway behind her.

  The guardsman was stomping on as many of the crawling things as he could as they rushed away in every direction. The woman began to bang the iron foot of her staff against the floor. With each blow, growing waves of fire swept out along the floorboards from the impact.

  “Gurt, you fool, you know you shouldn’t have gone in ahead of me. Now I have to cleanse you again.”

  “Dammit, we got the bitch this time, let me enjoy it!”

  The floorboards were blackening under the pulses of fire. The underside of the bed was beginning to smoke. Gurt looked down at Salt.

  “Looks like we got here just in time, eh, lad?”

  “Just get him off the bed, Gurt; I’ll have to burn it and cleanse him as well.”

  Gurt pulled a dagger from his belt and cut the ropes restraining Salt. Staggering to his feet, Salt clutched the cut across his chest. “It’s all right, lad, the cut isn’t deep. Now hurry up and walk through the doorway. We’ll have a healer see to you outside.”

  Salt rushed toward the door but hesitated before stepping into the flames.

  “Go on, it won’t hurt you, though you won’t have much hair left on the other side,” said Gurt, just before shoving the dazed sailor through the fire. Salt felt a wave of heat followed by the stench of burning hair, and then cool night air. It looked to be about an hour before dawn. The sky was a deep purple just beginning to lighten to blue. A half-dozen soldiers were standing in a loose arc around the doorway, crossbows and spears trained on him. Gurt stepped out behind him. His leather armor fell off him into a heap of ash and metal buckles. He stood unashamedly in front of the soldiers rubbing his hand over his newly bald head.

  “Wheeze! Come see to the lad’s scratch. Seely, stop gawking and get me some clothes or a blanket or something. Find something for the lad while you’re at it.”

  A harried-looking soldier in his forties jogged over, breathing heavily. He sounded like he was about to pass out as he struggled to draw each gasping breath. In one hand he held a bag, which he set down at Salt’s feet before he started to examine his wound. The soldier didn’t say a word. Probably can’t spare the breath with all his wheezing. A girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen handed Salt an old blanket while trying her best not to look anywhere near him and blushing furiously. And that must be Seely.

  Salt wrapped the blanket around his hips, nodding thanks to the girl. The medic put a simple bandage on Salt’s chest and rushed off. His wheezing never changed pitch. Salt ran his hands across his body and over his head. Nothing but clean skin. His wild hair and straggly beard, even his eyebrows and lashes were gone. His skin had never felt so smooth. I wonder if that mage woman is going to charge me for the shave and haircut. He started laughing. Low at first, but the laughter just kept bubbling up until tears were running down his face. Gurt, now dressed in a blanket similar to Salt’s own, took him by the arm.

  “Come on, lad. It’s been a rough night. You’ve had a real shock, but you’ve come through it with nothing more than a scratch. Why not join me and my men in a little victory celebration?” Salt muffled his laughs in his arm and managed a nod. Gurt turned back to the waiting soldiers.

  “Tell Krigare to take a couple lads and clean up when Lera finishes inside. Shouldn’t be long. You can join us at the Red Rat when you’re done.” The soldiers nodded and went about their work.

  Salt followed Gurt’s lead. He didn’t know or care where they were going. After a few minutes, they came to a large tavern that obviously catered to soldiers. Nearly every man or woman in the place was wearing a uniform from the city guard, or one of the other branches of the Bialtan military.

  Gurt and the others were quickly recognized. Many greeted them by name when they arrived, some commenting sarcastically about blankets becoming their new uniform. Within minutes, two long tables were cleared for the new arrivals as several soldiers congratulated them and offered to buy them celebratory pints. Recognized and respected, thought Salt. Still, he didn’t ask any questions. He just drained the tankard that was set in front of him. More drinks followed. Lera and the other soldiers joined them, and one of soldiers had brought Salt his coins from the wreckage of the priestess’s home; then even more drinks followed. Salt didn’t take much notice of the conversation beyond the repeated toasts and cheers of “We got the bitch!” and “The bloody bitch is finally gone for good!” Gurt didn’t seem the least uncomfortable sitting there dressed only in his blanket, and Salt let himself relax as he poured down the succession of drinks that were placed in front of him.

  Salt woke up in the morning with a groan. His head was splitting with the worst hangover he could remember. The room spun around him. Room? Where was he anyway? The narrow bed he lay in was hard, the sheets rough but not unpleasantly so. The room was dark. He could only vaguely see the stone wall next to him and the hint of a large dark space around him. Now that he was thinking past the
pain in his head he could hear other people in the darkness beyond, at least a couple breathing deeply and one snoring softly.

  He thought back to the previous night. He could remember pints, a lot of them. He couldn’t be sure just how many. There was something else too, some half-remembered drunken heart-to-heart with Gurt.

  Salt reached up and gingerly touched his chest. A bandage was tightly bound over the cut, but it didn’t hurt too much. His wrists were also covered in scabs from struggling against the ropes the priestess had bound him with. He sat up and fumbled in the darkness for a light. His hand found a heavy curtain against the wall above his bed. A quick tug and he was blinded by the afternoon sun. He blinked against the glare and saw a large courtyard below him.

  “Gods, lad!” He heard Gurt’s sleepy voice. “Close that bloody curtain. Some of us are still trying to sleep off last night’s celebration.”

  Salt looked around at a barracks. A group of soldiers were glaring at him through half-open eyes. Salt closed the curtain. “Sorry,” he croaked, his voice raw.

  “S’okay, lad, but try to get back to sleep. We start your training tonight.”

  Salt let his head fall back to the pillow before the words sunk in. Last night’s conversation returned to him in striking clarity—an invitation to join some group called the Night Guard. Warnings of it being a tough path to walk and lots of talk of hunting the hunters. Fuck me blind. . . . I went and joined the army.