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

by Craig A. Munro

  He brushed himself off and climbed back onto the box. He sawed at the rope again until it split and the twitcher hit the ground, still jerking and twitching. Jeb’s guts went cold. The fucker isn’t twitching and dying. He’s still struggling against his bonds! The drop into the pit would do for him anyway. Jeb was sure of that. He dragged the twitcher by his noose, not willing to lay a hand on him now that he knew the man wasn’t dying. Muffled sounds were coming from the rough sack that was still tied over the man’s head. Another strange detail that. Jeb couldn’t recall seeing a sack on any of the other deaders. Though this guy isn’t a deader yet, is he? Maybe it’s someone else’s job to take off the sacks. . . . He dragged the twitcher to the corner alongside the pit. The bastard’s struggles redoubled. Wonder if he knows what’s comin or if it’s just the smell? Jeb shoved the twitcher into the pit with his foot without another thought. He listened for a minute but didn’t hear anything. Well, that’s that. He brushed off his hands on his dirty breeches. Another job well done. It was time for a well-deserved drink. The gallows were surprisingly empty at the moment. Jeb wouldn’t need to sober up for days.

  Anger suffused his entire being. Yajel had lost count of the hours he had spent hanging from the gallows. The rope around his neck chafed his skin raw as he continued to struggle against his bonds. Days had passed. He was sure of that. The feeling of the sun warming the thick sack that had been tied over his head was unmistakable. As was the feeling of being watched. It had lessened in the hours following the sentencing, of course. Most observers tired of watching him twitch at the end of a rope after the first hour. He was so tightly bound even his struggles were not obvious enough to make them entertaining for the crowds. But the feeling never faded entirely. The humiliation of it was worse than any pain he felt in his neck and shoulders. Bastards! As if a rope could be the end of me! I will cut them down one and all. I will hang them by their own entrails. But their king will suffer for judging me, suffer and die before any of the others to make them know failure before their own end. The straps and ropes were slowly giving way. Nothing obvious, of course. Not yet. But utter immobility had given way to the barest hint of movement.

  A few more days, maybe. . . . Days hanging with corpses for company and hungry crows impatiently waiting for his last breath. I was betrayed. There was no other possibility. His planning was meticulous. His precautions would be thought excessive by even the most paranoid of resin smokers. Someone drugged me! For the Night Guard to catch him was unacceptable. That they were able to do so without him being able to fight back was enraging. To fall asleep at night and wake up during his own trial, a noose already around his neck awaiting the verdict. . . . The thought left him so angry he had no words to describe the burning, searing heat of it. It was all impossible. Unless the person closest to him, the only person who knew almost every aspect of his defenses had turned on him. No. Banjax would never betray me. But a nagging voice in his head kept asking the question: Then why is she not wearing a noose next to me? He had heard the sentencing. Only men were hanged with him.

  Lost in a world of betrayal and rage, he didn’t notice someone cutting at the rope of his noose until just before it gave way. He fell in a limp heap on the muddy ground, his head spinning from the sudden change in position. About time they came to cut me down. His followers were scum one and all. There was no denying that. But he had gotten each and every one of them out of some tight fixes. He had treated them fairly and helped them get rich. I’ll give them shit for making me wait for so long before I reward them for getting me out of this mess. . . . But the ropes around his arms and legs were not cut. The leather straps were not loosened. Instead he was being pulled across the muddy ground in fits and jerks by the noose that was still tied around his neck. He tried to speak through the gag and sack but could not make himself heard.

  What the fuck are they doing?! Then it occurred to him. It wasn’t his followers who had cut him down. The king’s men had tired of seeing him swing at the end of a rope and decided to finish him off.

  The dragging stopped. He waited for the sword to fall. His mind was blank. Robbed of his plans for revenge, there was suddenly nothing left within him.

  Then a foot pushed at the side of his chest, and he was falling over a ledge. A surprisingly long fall. He collided with something on the way down that snapped his left shoulder and sent him spinning. His guts clenched as he tumbled through the air. But the bone-crushing impact he had expected at the end of the fall never came. Instead he glanced off several wet, yielding surfaces that bruised every part of his body before landing in a pool of squelching mud. The sack over his face wasn’t enough to cover up the stench of putrefying flesh.

  Yajel’s anger returned stronger than ever. They hadn’t even bothered to kill him. They had thrown him out like refuse and left him to die in a pit. His shoulder was swelling, certainly broken. Something sharp was lodged deep into his back near his shoulder blade as well. The pain of it was far worse than his neck. But he was alive. His revenge was not lost to him. They would pay for what they did to him. All of them. He started to struggle against his bonds again and was pleased to notice more movement than before. Another day maybe. At least he was no longer being watched.

  When he finally got the ropes and straps loose enough to get an arm out, Yajel was near death. As strong as he was, he could not go without food and water forever. The putrid mud and insects were threatening to drive him insane as well. Things he couldn’t identify crawled across his body. Rats occasionally bit him, testing, seeing if he was finished yet so they could start the feast. Thankfully the rough linen sack kept the worst of the creatures away from his face. I will not die down here! he swore to himself. His right shoulder was grotesquely swollen after the fall, and his constant struggles had done nothing to improve it. I will need to find a proper healer to deal with this or I may lose my arm. He slowly lifted his hands to his neck and removed the rope he had cursed for so long. The sack followed, and he almost regretted removing it.

  He was, as he had guessed, in a putrid pool of mud surrounded by decaying bodies, maggots, rats, and insects. A little moisture leaked out of the walls down here. Not enough to be collected by those above, just enough to keep the bottom of the hole wet and muddy. Though by no means squeamish, some part of him wished he only had a human’s eyesight and so, blinded by the dark, would have been spared the sight. The stench was indescribable. The sack hadn’t blocked all of it, but it had held in the smell of his own unwashed body to compete with the smell of decomposition. He snatched up one of the fat rats and snapped its neck. Then he wiped off his right hand as well as he was able and gouged his finger into the rat’s stomach. After he was satisfied he had removed all of the animal’s digestive system, he bit deeply into its back. Some part of his mind was disturbed by how wonderful the rat tasted. Its blood, dribbling down his chin, was sweeter than wine to his starved body.

  A day, maybe two, eating rats and regaining his strength and he’d try to climb out of the pit. Even with the slick muddy sides he didn’t think it was beyond him. His shoulder being the way it was wouldn’t make it any easier, but there was no other choice, no other path he could see. At least he had some materials to help him: a dozen leather straps, and several thick lengths of good hemp rope—one on each of the corpses around him. Their wasteful natures will be the key to my return.

  Yajel frowned. He was as resistant to disease as he was to nearly everything, but several days down here would be difficult to survive even if he wasn’t starved and carrying several open wounds and bites. He had to wait, eat, and recover his strength, but if he waited too long, he would never make it out. And even if I do, there I’ll be, covered in shit and worse, with a broken shoulder in the middle of the palace courtyard. He wound the leather braces around his wounded shoulder and arm, trying to support the limb without losing too much mobility. Then he took the ropes and tore some strips of cloth off the other corpses around them and wound the cloth over every part of his body to
protect him from the rats and insects. Finally, with a sigh, he pulled the muddy sack back over his head, propped himself up against a wall, and tried to rest.

  Two days and ten rats later, Yajel judged that he was as strong as he was going to get down here. When the sun set, he would either climb to freedom, or fall back down and die. He was no longer starving, but his flesh was hot and flushed. He had woken up sweating in the cold pit. It must be tonight.

  CHAPTER 9

  Waiting for the scouts to return was hard on everyone. The others had realized the truth of Karim’s words and they all flocked around Maura asking for advice and looking for purpose. Well accustomed to keeping idle hands busy, she didn’t disappoint them, though she was exhausted herself when the scout teams finally started drifting back in. They gave their reports in front of the assembled militia. The news was grim: while the king and all of Sacral’s hopelessly outnumbered army were fighting on the western side of the city, a second almost equally large army was attacking from the east. With no one to oppose them, the Abolians were swarming into the city and gradually breaking up into smaller groups as they rampaged through the streets slaughtering and plundering. The tales of burning houses, looting, rape, and murder were repeated by each team that returned.

  As fear spread through the city, so too did word of the militia. Scared and desperate people were now flocking to them in hopes of finding safety. Though she had no training or rank, the new arrivals all accepted Maura’s leadership role without question. And without quite realizing when she started, she found herself issuing orders and organizing those who wanted to fight back.

  With a few well-placed words, Maura quelled their fears and awakened their anger. She looked around at a few hundred would-be fighters. “I know we have no training and few weapons, but every scout we’ve sent out has agreed. These invaders wander lost in our city. More, they move in small groups. Sacral is our home. Our scouts have proven time and again today that we can move around them without being seen or caught. All we need to do is surprise them. They may outnumber our army, but the people of Sacral, the common people like you and me, outnumber the damned Abolians by far more still. They have forgotten that we are the proud descendants of the legendary army that slew Death. It’s time to remind them!” The people roared their approval.

  “Now I will hear no more arguments; we need to do something about these dogs who think they can wander into our city and do as they please. Karim, choose fifteen men you think are the best able to handle themselves in a fight, former soldiers like yourself if possible. Make sure you all have some kind of weapon. The rest of you follow more slowly. There will be plenty for everyone, I’m sure. We’ll take out a few small groups if we can and pass out weapons to more of our people. Now, let’s see what kind of trouble the people of Sacral can cause for these would-be conquerors.” The group set out as quietly as they could with a dozen scouts running ahead of them.

  The first Abolians they found were just leaving a large house. Their armor was stained with blood and they were weighted down with plunder. Maura held her nervous group back until the Abolians were almost on top of them. The surprise was total. The six red-armored men died almost without putting up a fight. Her mostly unarmed volunteers tore the men limb from limb. Six invaders dead. Only two of her own were wounded, neither seriously. This small victory galvanized the rest of her force. The Abolian soldiers were stripped of their weapons as well as a few pieces of armor. The loot was passed out without a word, and everyone looked at Maura expectantly, eager for the next fight.

  Maura shook her head. “Let’s not get carried away. Our wounded need to be taken back to the others. More, we need to make sure there are no people in these houses who need our help.” We’re going to need a bigger place to keep all the young and the old safe. The houses around Karim’s are all filling up, and it’s going to get harder and harder to get messages to everyone. She looked up and saw the great arena in the distance. With a smile she waved her group to come closer and listen.

  “We’re going to need to get everyone to a safe place and get enough people armed and ready to defend it. I think the arena is our best bet. Anyone we tell about it will be able to find their way there easily too and we won’t have to guide each and every person who wants to join us.” Eager faces all nodded their approval. “Now, the first thing we need to do is make sure it’s safe. Then we get everyone moving from Karim’s house over that way in small groups with as many fighters as we can manage.”

  Karim finished her thought, “Then we’ll make sure we spread the word to all the survivors we find to bring all the food and water they can and join us there.”

  Maura nodded. “All right, people, let’s do this again. Same plan. Let’s keep moving toward the arena and see how many more swords we can take.” The people moved off, with fresh resolve. As they approached the building, they saw signs of fighting. Hundreds of Abolians had been cut down along the main thoroughfare that led from the arena to the west wall. Her followers gleefully helped themselves to the weapons that were scattered around the dead invaders.

  “Every single one is Abolian,” her scouts reported. The arena also seemed to be totally deserted.

  “One of the Warchosen must have come through here or even the king,” Maura answered. “That’s good news for us. Make sure you collect as many weapons as you can. Any you can’t carry easily, leave in the arena for the others when we get them here. And make sure you explore every part of the building, even the tunnels down below. As soon as we’re sure there aren’t any Abolians hiding nearby we can start bringing everyone over here and spreading the word.”

  Two hours later, fresh recruits and people seeking refuge were streaming into the arena, and nearly a thousand proud men and women stood with the militia. Most were assigned the task of guarding the many entrances to the arena while several hundred joined Maura in circling the arena in ever-widening loops, clearing out any invaders they could find. They had developed a system. Scouts would locate enemies, and groups of the better-armed militia would then fan out, encircle, and overwhelm them. Then they would slip into each house as they passed and look for survivors. A handful of people had even taken it upon themselves to pass out water and food to the fighters whenever circumstances permitted.

  Everything proceeded smoothly for the better part of the morning. Almost three hundred invaders had fallen to the People’s Army, as they were now calling themselves. They fought with barely controlled savagery. No quarter was given to the invaders. Each new survivor was greeted with joy, one more small victory over the Abolians. It was with great excitement that Maura welcomed Jerik to their group early that afternoon. A scout had found him standing guard over a young woman and her three children.

  “Jerik! It’s so good to see you! Have you seen Beren and Gerald? Are they safe?”

  Jerik’s smile at seeing her faltered. “I’m so sorry, Maura. Gerald . . . Gerald is dead. I found him in the front of the shop. Beren is gone. I have no idea where. I’m so sorry,” he repeated softly.

  Maura felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. My son. My dear Beren. She started to tremble. Jerik reached out to support her, but she pulled away.

  “No, thank—” Her voice broke. She coughed and tried again. “Thank you, Jerik . . . for telling me. I’ll have to hope that we can find Beren somewhere in this mess.” She shook herself and turned back to Karim.

  “Please get everyone moving again. There are still a lot of people in the city we can save.” She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, and the pain in her stomach clenched into a tight ball of agony, her mind almost unable to get past the loss of her only child. With incredible determination, Maura pushed the pain deep down and swore to herself she wouldn’t give in to her feelings while she still had a chance of saving her husband. Beren has to be safe. I can’t lose them both.

  Karim looked at her sadly and nodded his agreement. “You heard the lady!” he called out. “Let’s get moving. Scouts out front.” The would-b
e army moved out. Jerik hefted his hammer and fell in next to Maura.

  A boy of about fifteen who had been acting as a scout for the army returned a short time later. “It looks like a group of about twelve hiding in an alley five streets over, ma’am.”

  It took her a few moments to respond. She rubbed tears out of her eyes angrily before turning her attention to the boy. “Good work. Let’s get at least fifty of our own into position around them before we attack. Can you describe the place better to the other scouts?” He nodded emphatically. Maura gave the order to attack, relieved that she had a more immediate worry to occupy her mind. She waited for the sounds of fighting but was surprised moments later by her own fifty returning, leading a group of a dozen Sacral soldiers. Their tabards had been removed, but their armor was certainly recognizable enough.

  Their officer stomped to the front of the group. “Who is in charge of this rabble?” he demanded.

  “That would be me,” answered Maura, stepping out from behind Jerik.

  “Common citizens are not to become involved with the war. You will only hamper our own efforts. Now send these good people back to their homes. There is more to war than waving around weapons,” he said. He then turned on his heel and started to walk away.

  “Unfortunate then that we killed the sixty Abolians that were moving in your direction before you could handle them yourself.” The officer paused. He looked at the men and women around him, only now noticing the number of enemy weapons clutched in their hands, the bloodstains, the wounds.