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

by Craig A. Munro

  The Black was the closest thing Sacral had to a slum. The buildings were bare stone—the black basalt left uncovered. The poorest segment of the population lived here. The homes were as well built as any in the city since they all dated back to the founding, but it was considered unlucky to live in a home that didn’t have white walls, so most of the buildings were left to gather dust. The histories showed that the Black had shrunk over the years as Sacral’s population had increased and more and more homes were occupied and painted. Now only a narrow strip of the Black remained, but Maura doubted it would ever disappear. Those few undesirables the city held had made their homes here and seemed unwilling or unable to even paint the walls. Bars and gambling dens were the only businesses in the area. All of them clustered around the building that was Maura’s destination—Sacral’s prison.

  Only a few dozen prisoners had been locked up in the huge building before the invasion. Now, it held almost fifteen hundred men and women, all of them Abolian. They were the few who had been lucky enough to escape the backlash from the crowds when Sacral had gained the advantage in the battle. The city was using considerable resources to ensure the prisoners both survived and did not escape, which was Maura’s primary reason for coming to this unsavory part of town.

  She didn’t have a clue what to do with them. Most of the prisoners didn’t even speak a language she understood. Still, she couldn’t decide their fate until she had attempted to speak to as many of the Abolians as she could. Beren had insisted that the safest course of action was to keep them locked up for the time being, that their nation would surely ask for them back and they could be ransomed for supplies and construction materials. Harrow wanted them put to work repairing the damage they had caused. Corwin had insisted that they could not be trusted not to attack them again either way and that a few drops of spider venom in their evening meal would be the kindest solution. Maura shuddered just thinking about it. The generally jovial man had shocked her deeply with his pragmatic suggestion.

  Maura had killed more than one Abolian during the battle and had ordered the death of many others, but this was not war. There was no struggle happening here. She couldn’t order a single person murdered much less a thousand. As much as anyone in Sacral, Maura wanted a return to stability, to safety. The presence of so many of their enemies here in the city made that impossible. She almost hoped that the prisoners would be vile and disgusting individuals, that their evil would be obvious in their faces and words, that Corwin’s solution might yet be justified. That she could look at them and see the source of all her pain and rage at the senseless loss of her son. Such people could be put to death without remorse. Maybe . . .

  The Black had hardly been disturbed by the attack or the goddess riots. Looting Abolians had moved away from the poor or sparsely populated areas looking for richer spoils, and the rioters had had no need to disturb the area either as no statues or paintings of the White Mother had ever existed here.

  Ten soldiers walked with Maura under the command of Squad Leader Molt. Captain Harrow had tried to insist on accompanying her himself, but she would have none of it. He was needed elsewhere and she couldn’t allow him to waste his time following her around. But after their discoveries in the temple, Harrow saw dangers and traitors everywhere, and he would simply not let her leave the palace unprotected. They passed a few people on the street who made Maura shiver. She’d never been to the Black before. There was nothing wrong with the people who lived there per se. It was just the way they looked at her that made her thankful that she had relented and allowed Harrow to assemble this small honor guard.

  Maura noticed the prison long before they came to the building itself. It was far larger than she had expected, a giant stone block nearly a match in size to the White Mother’s temple. And yet if anyone actually lived inside the giant building, there was no sign. No windows or openings of any kind marred the featureless black walls. I guess it would have to be big for over fifteen hundred prisoners to be locked up in it, not to mention the guards.

  “It must be worse than living in a cave,” she said.

  “It’s actually not unpleasant inside, Commander,” said one of her bodyguards. She looked over at him questioningly. “I had to bring prisoners here a couple times before, but getting stationed here permanently is one of the biggest punishments the army has. No one wants to be a Sword Brother.”

  “And why is that, soldier?”

  He shrugged uncomfortably. “They’re a strange lot. Locked up in that box with the prisoners all the time.”

  They came around the front of the building. Huge iron doors blocked the only entrance. “I’ll have to remember this place if we’re ever attacked again. It’s the most defensible building in the city, though I don’t like the idea of only one entrance.”

  Her bodyguard pounded on the door. It opened smoothly. Two armed guards stood in the doorway wearing white robes embroidered with the sword of justice over their leather armor. One of the Sword Brothers looked Maura up and down, then turned to the nearest of her bodyguards. “Pretty heavy escort for one woman. What did she do?” His voice was gravelly and cracked with disuse.

  Molt flushed and shot an apologetic look at Maura before glaring at the Sword Brother and answering. “This is High Commander Maura of the People’s Army! Savior of Sacral! Show some respect!”

  Unperturbed, the Sword Brother looked back to Maura for a moment and mumbled, “Thought you’d be taller.” Then he paused long enough to make her bodyguards bristle before adding, “My lady commander.” Then he moved out of the way and waved them inside.

  The inside of the building strongly reminded Maura of the White Mother’s temple. The same soft Sourceless light lit the inside of the bright and surprisingly airy interior. Although plain and suitably austere, the long empty hallways didn’t feel foreboding or confining.

  They didn’t have far to walk before coming to the cells. Hundreds of small single enclosures lined one side of the hallway that seemed to wind around endlessly within the huge building. Each cell had three stone walls so that the prisoners were unable to see each other. Thick iron bars sealed them in. Each cell had a stone shelf for sleeping with several blankets piled atop it, jugs for water and pots for waste, as well as enough room to comfortably walk in a circle, albeit a small one, should they feel the need to move around. Maura was surprised again by the airiness of the place. With so many bodies confined in a tight place, the smells should be strong in here, and yet she realized she couldn’t smell anything at all in this strange place. Not even the smell of her own clothes when she raised them to her face. The Sword Brother called out and all the prisoners stood at attention next to their bunks. Despite the disorganized rabble these people had devolved into during the sacking of the city, they had obviously received military training and were accustomed to taking orders. Maura briefly wondered how the Sword Brothers were able to enforce this level of obedience in the prisoners, then pushed the thought from her mind. She had enough to think about already. The prisoners were clean and looked to be well cared for. That was enough for now.

  Maura walked down the long hallway with the same two Sword Brothers leading the way and her bodyguards behind her. Maura barely noticed them. Her attention was focused on these men and women whose fates she needed to decide. Some of them returned her stare with defiance in their eyes, while others bowed their heads meekly or in fear. Not one of them inspired the immediate sense of loathing she had almost hoped for. Choosing their fates was all the more daunting now that the prisoners were not faceless numbers anymore, but real flesh and blood men and women who were locked up in cages. Maura stopped so suddenly that her bodyguards almost tripped over her. The man in the cell she had been passing had turned away as she approached, but not before she had seen his face. Impossibly, she knew the man.

  “Sword Brother,” she called out to the prison guard who was still walking away down the length of the hall ahead of her. “I need to see this man more closely.” The Sword Brothe
r shrugged and unlocked the cell door with a heavy key. The prisoner moaned and curled up in the corner.

  Maura’s bodyguards moved in to bring the man out of his cell. When they touched him, he started to struggle violently. Molt looked at her apologetically before punching the man in the stomach twice. Then they dragged him out and forced him to his knees in front of Maura. The blood had drained from his face and he was trembling. Maura had no doubt she knew who he was. His reaction to her presence, so different from all the other Abolians, had confirmed it.

  “Sword Brothers, I need this man taken somewhere private where I can speak with him.” The two guards nodded and gestured for the bodyguards to follow them. Whispers and shouts were rising from all the cells now. Prisoners wondering if their time had come to an end, wondering if they would be dragged away next. Maura could feel the tension building. She looked back at the prison guard.

  “Sword Brother? Why was this acolyte of the temple locked up with the Abolians?”

  The guard’s bored façade cracked for a moment as he looked at the prisoner in confusion. “A what? But he couldn’t be. He speaks Abolian same as all the others. How could he be a priest?”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to find out. There can be no mistake. This man presided over my son’s name day when he came of age just last year.” Maura made sure her voice carried, despite the renewed surge of pain the happy memory awoke in her. Most of the Abolians may not be able to understand her, but she figured enough would for word to spread. She hoped to avoid creating any ill feelings over the incident. There was no sense in making the prisoners hate her and her people. Particularly since she might yet be releasing them.

  The prisoner was taken to an empty room. A chair was brought in for him, and Molt started asking him questions: “Why were you pretending to be Abolian? Who are you really?”

  Despite his obvious terror, the man wouldn’t answer the most basic questions. As time dragged on, Maura’s men became more frustrated and rougher in their treatment of the priest.

  They are letting their anger and the White Mother’s betrayal show, and they’re taking it out on this man. The worst thing is, I can’t blame them. “That will do for now, Molt. Sword Brothers, have this man put in a cell away from the other prisoners. Treat him fairly, but send word if he decides to speak. I need to return to the council.”

  “So there’s a priest hiding with the prisoners?” said Sevren, leaning forward at the council table. “Do you think he hid in there to avoid the purge?”

  “Not possible,” replied Harrow. “The prisoners were all locked up well before the purge started. The only way it would be possible is if the Sword Brothers had turned, and if that were the case, they surely wouldn’t have led you past the man in the first place. There are more than enough Abolian prisoners in that building to satisfy even the most curious of inspections.”

  “Whatever the reason, he speaks their tongue as if born to it,” said Maura.

  “This strikes me as something long prepared then. Certainly not a way to hide. Even using magical learning, picking up a language is not something that can be done in a day,” added Corwin. “It seems to me we need to find out why he’s there, and soon. The priesthood’s plans concern us all directly.” His comment met with nods and words of agreement from around the table.

  “How hard was he pressed during his interrogation, my lady?” asked Harrow.

  “Hard enough to be bruised. I stopped Molt from going any further. We are not savages.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady, but I think that was a mistake. Our enemies have no qualms about using any and all means at their disposal to hurt us. That one of those enemies seems to be our patron goddess makes this all the more critical.”

  “You would torture the man then?”

  “I would, my lady. If doing so would save the life of even one of our people.”

  Maura was shocked. She never would have guessed any of her councillors were so cold. Then she remembered Corwin’s comment about spider venom from that morning. Maybe I’m the one who’s too soft for all this. She looked around the council. One by one her councillors all nodded, though Jerik looked as if he might be sick as he did so. Feeling almost as if someone else were speaking through her lips, Maura said, “Do it.”

  Harrow returned early the next day to report his findings. Maura hadn’t slept at all. She’d barely left the council chamber. She couldn’t let go of the image of the priest, whom she’d first met at such a happy occasion, suffering at her command.

  “What did you learn, Captain?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked,” he said, not taking his eyes off the floor. “But he has admitted to being a priest of the White Mother . . . and the Deceiver. Those little truths came out not long after he admitted to speaking our tongue. He spoke quite calmly most of the time but would then rave and scream with no warning. I believe he is insane, as is the goddess he serves.”

  Maura’s eyes widened in shock.

  “He spoke of Sacral being a grand sacrifice to the goddess. The people’s weakening faith was weakening her in turn. So the priests were tasked with consecrating every part of our city in her name. They made every building and street into an altar upon which the dying would be a sacrifice to her, then invited the wolves in to slaughter us. The Abolians were simply the first to arrive and offered a convenient way for the temple to get a large part of our army out. I believe they may even have intended to use Jenus and his army further, possibly in an attempt to retake the city, but I haven’t been able to confirm that.” He lowered his eyes and let out a slow breath before continuing. “The priests were to remain in hiding. They used the White Mother’s magic to learn the Abolian tongue and customs before Kabol and Zorat even arrived at our door. Some were to infiltrate the Abolian army and spread the Mother’s cult to their lands. Others were to wait and come out to rule over any who might survive after the army had finished sacking the city. The priest swore he didn’t know how many others were among the Abolian survivors. I do not believe him.”

  “I’m worried. What am I to tell the people? They already feel betrayed and lost. I’ve heard many of them speak of leaving Sacral and traveling to Bialta or Keral. How will they feel when they hear that not only were they abandoned and betrayed, but we were all to die, sacrificed to that bloodthirsty monster?”

  “The important thing is they failed. Who knows what would have happened if we hadn’t gone to explore the temple when we did? Or if that minion of the Dead King hadn’t killed the priests for us?”

  For the first time since he arrived, Harrow met her eye so she could see what the torture was costing him. “I intend to continue the interrogation. In truth, I only came to give you an update. And to . . . breathe. But I have to push him. I need to know more. I need to know if we can trust the prisoners not to be harboring another priest.”

  Maura’s gaze was far away. “We were nothing more than cattle to her. Swelling in numbers for all these centuries until she was ready to have us slaughtered and glut herself on our blood and souls. And now even one of the happiest memories I had of my son is tainted by the presence of one of her priests.”

  “I’m sorry, Lady Maura,” said Harrow softly, calling her back to the here and now. “I’m sorry that you have been saddled with this decision. But what must I do with the priest after I am through? I do not think he can ever be freed, nor should any others we find among the Abolians.”

  “You are right, my friend. We can’t let him go. Nor can we trust him not to spread her influence over the other prisoners or even the guards.” She took a deep breath. “His place is in the pit with the other priests.” A tear ran down her cheek. What would Beren think of me if he knew I’d done this?

  Harrow saluted and moved to leave when Maura stopped him. “Harrow? When you do it, please make it quick.”

  He nodded without looking back at her and left in silence.

  Just like that I ordered a man to be murdered. A man who likely did little if anyt
hing wrong himself beyond taking vows to serve the same deity we all followed blindly for generations. Maura felt dirty—dirty and confused and miserable. Prayer had always helped calm her before . . . but now? She didn’t think she could ever trust another god or priest. She was denied her usual support, now while hundreds of thousands of people in the city were placing their hopes and trust in her. So many responsibilities, all of them heavier than she could have ever imagined, and no one to lean on. Not even Beren.

  While Beren was rarely out of earshot during the day, he spent long hours locked up in his shop at night. There was something fragile about him that prevented her from sharing her burdens with him. She missed the comfort of being with him. The simple nearness and easy understanding. Maura felt like they were miles apart. Beren worked himself into exhaustion, carving runes into every conceivable object or tool that he thought would help anyone. Maura could see the pain in his eyes. He must blame himself for Gerald’s death. As if there was anything he could have done. If only he would talk to me. She stared off into space and let out a slow breath.

  I guess we’ve both made our choice. We’ve both put the good of the city and its people ahead of our own needs. Perhaps one day they would both be able to step back from a city at peace with itself and help each other heal. But today was not that day. Today was the day Maura expected to order several more priests to be put to death.

  Beren looked down at the plow blade he was working on. His supplies were running out and this might be the last rune he could carve unless he started charging for his services again. Since the invasion he’d been desperate to work, to help in any way he could, if only to silence his thoughts for a few precious moments. They were attacking me! he told himself again and again. They murdered Gerald! But the guilt of what he had done, the weight of all those lives he’d taken almost by accident, the fact that he’d done so too late to save his son, just kept gnawing at him. No, it wasn’t an accident. I chose to pick up the sword. I chose to step outside. I chose to take the fight to the Abolians. He shook his head in frustration.